


Someone to Watch Over Me

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death Threats, F/M, Mild Language, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Six months ago, everything changed. Widowed and alone, Dean Winchester is determined to pick himself up and move on, so he goes back to his job as a bodyguard for Singer Protective Services. His first assignment? An actress receiving death threats, an actress with an uncanny resemblance to his wife.You don’t want protection, don’t need it. Especially from someone as cold and impersonal as Dean Winchester. You’re not afraid of a bunch of stupid death threats, you just want to be left alone to live your life.Two people, two very different lives. Who will be the first to let the armor slip?





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Bobby, you know I don’t like to work with actresses,” I sighed. “They’re full of themselves, bitchy, selfish, impossible to deal with -”

“I know and normally, I wouldn’t ask, especially after what happened to -” Bobby cut himself off, his mouth snapping shut. He stared at the top of his desk, anything to not look directly at me. 

“Bobby, I’m fine,” I said. “It’s been more than six months. I need to get back to work.” I’d only been back for a week and I was still getting used to the sympathetic looks, the “oh, I’m so sorry “ head tilts when I mentioned her name, the abrupt ends to sentences when I walked into a room, the “I can’t believe he’s still working here” smiles, and the “go easy on Dean, he’s fragile” attitudes from everyone in the office. I was also getting sick of them. I wanted to get out, get back to work, out where people didn’t know what had happened to my wife, out where I felt normal, human, instead of like some asshole who’d let his wife die.

“That’s why I’m asking you, Dean,” Bobby slid the file across the desk. “That and Sam’s up in Vancouver with those two guys from that TV show. You’ve got more experience than anyone currently on staff. This one is high profile, so I need someone I can trust.”

I grabbed the file and sat down in one of the chairs by the window overlooking LA. “Why’s it so high profile?” I asked.

“She’s an Oscar nominated actress, in the news more than she’s out, philanthropist, humanitarian, drama queen, pain in the ass, whatever,” Bobby explained. “And for some reason, she’s receiving death threats. Death threats the studio is taking very seriously. She’s refused protection in the past, even fought against it, but apparently she agreed this time. And it’s only for the next couple of weeks.”

“Press junkets, lots of public appearances, she’s going to be out in public eye a lot,” I said, flipping through the file. “Am I going to be enough?”

“You’re more than enough, Dean,” Bobby nodded. “You’ll have to be. She’s insisting that there be no more than one bodyguard and a driver. You’re my first choice for the job. But I understand if you don’t want it. I’ll see if I can get Sam down here -”

“I’ll do it.” I pushed myself to my feet, the file in my hand. “Call the studio and her manager, get me her full itinerary. I’ll start in the morning.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Bobby,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “I’m fine.” I yanked open his office door, didn’t wait for his answer. I was tired of trying to convince people that I could do my job. It was time to prove it.

* * *

“I agreed to it, Georgia, but I’m not happy about it,” you bit out, letting the box of scripts fall on the table inside the door. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter.”

“Y/N, that last phone call was to your cell phone,” Georgia, said. “A number only five or six people have. And the letters, they’re too personal, too, I don’t know, crazy. The threats cannot be ignored, not anymore. Look, I tried to talk them out of it, I swear, but the studio execs will feel better if you just accept this without being difficult.”

You sat on the couch in the small office just off the foyer and kicked off your shoes. You rubbed your forehead, the beginnings of a headache creeping up on you. You yanked a bottle of Excedrin out of your purse and downed two with the glass of water on the end table. You didn’t have time for a migraine, not today, you had too much to do.

“He just needs to stay out of my way, Georgie.” You resorted to your manager’s, and friend’s, pet name, a usually surefire way to get what you wanted. “These next two weeks are too important, between the movie premiere and the women’s center opening, I can’t afford to be stifled.”

“He isn’t going to stifle you, Y/N,” Georgia muttered. “He’s going to protect you. One bodyguard, the best Singer Protection Services has, shadowing you for the next couple of weeks. Just until we get this sorted out. Promise me you will behave yourself.”

“I promise,” you sighed, leaning back and resting your head on the back of the couch. “When does he start?”

“He’ll be here first thing in the morning,” Georgia replied. “His name is Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“Sounds like a tool,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. “I can’t wait.”

* * *

Tiny parked the black SUV in front of the main doors of the huge mansion. I stepped out of the vehicle, straightening my jacket as I looked around. I was already on edge and we’d barely pulled in the drive. No one was manning the gate and no one was stationed outside the house. This was a nightmare. I rubbed a hand over my face. My job just got a thousand times more difficult.

“Shit,” I muttered. “Tiny? Check the perimeter, will you? This is already a clusterfuck and it’s not even seven a.m.”

The man behind the wheel chuckled as he pushed himself out of the SUV. “On it, boss,” he muttered, taking off around the side of the house.

Tiny was a good guy, dependable, smart, and not to mention, intimidating. He was six feet tall and huge. He’d worked for Singer Protective Services since 2008 and he was one of the best men on staff, by far the best driver. I’d insisted Bobby pull him off of any current jobs he was working and assign him to this one. Fortunately, Bobby had readily agreed. 

I knocked on the front door, half expecting a housekeeper or someone to answer. Instead, the door flew open and standing on the other side of the threshold was the woman I was assigned to protect.

Startled, I took a step back. The resemblance was uncanny, almost eerie. I hadn’t realized that Y/N was  _ that _  actress, the one everyone said Melissa looked like. She’d always scoffed at the idea, brushing it off with a mumbled “I wish.” Now, standing her in front of Y/N, I couldn’t help but notice how much she really did look like my wife. My  _ dead  _ wife.

I swallowed back the lump that had risen in my throat. “Ms. Y/L/N?” I asked.

“You must be Dean Winchester,” she mumbled, bending over to fix the strap on one of her high heels. “You’re right on time, thank God. And it’s Y/N. Ms. Y/L/N is my mother.” She finished fixing her shoe, pushed past me, and hurried down the steps toward the SVU.

I followed her, grabbing her arm before she hit the bottom of the stairs. She turned, a deathly glare on her face. She tried to yank her arm away, but I held tight. She opened her mouth, I’m sure to protest, but I cut her off.

“Let’s get a few things straight,  _ Ms. Y/L/N _ ,” I growled. “I’m here to keep you safe. In order for me to do that, you are going to have to listen to me, whether you want to or not.” I’d read her file the night before. I knew she didn’t like bodyguards, that she had, in fact, refused them for years, at times to her own detriment. She was stubborn, independent, headstrong. Or, in my words, a pain in the ass.

She exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes. This just kept getting better and better. I was going to try and protect someone with an attitude, someone I knew didn’t want me anywhere near her. I’d been wrong about my job being a thousand times more difficult. It was more like a million times more difficult.

“Look, Mr. Winchester, I only agreed to a bodyguard because the movie studio insisted on it.” She hit me in the center of my chest with the tip of her finger. “You want to make both of our lives easy? You listen to  _ me _ , go where I say to go, and above all else, stay the hell out of my way.” She spun on her heel, nearly tripping when I didn’t release her. 

“We’ll see about that, ma’am,” I mumbled. I saw Tiny emerge from the side of the house out of the corner of my eye. He gave me a quick nod and headed for the SUV. I released Y/N’s arms and gestured for her to go ahead of me. She gave me a dirty look before spinning and stomping away.

* * *

You didn’t know exactly what you’d expected to see when you’d opened your front door, but it certainly wasn’t some tanned, freckled, body-to-die-for Adonis in a suit, with gorgeous, sparkling green eyes and unbelievably kissable lips. The few times you’d had a bodyguard, they’d been some scary, tattooed guy with arms bulging out of tight t-shirts and cargo pants straining to contain his over-muscled thighs. Dean Winchester was cool, calm, confident, perfectly muscled in all the right places, wearing a blue suit that fit him like a glove, a practiced smirk on his face. He was by far the most attractive man you’d ever seen, and you worked in the film industry with some of the most handsome men in the world.

You’d always been a sucker for a deep voice and a nice set of biceps, too, and hell, it wasn’t like you’d been dating anyone recently. Maybe a quick fling with your body guard was just what you needed. You wouldn’t be the first actress to do it.

It was too bad he was kind of a jerk, cold and standoffish. He was sitting beside you in the backseat of the black SUV, his whiskey smooth voice washing over you as he explained how things were going to run. You could have melted just listening to him talk, if you weren’t fuming over the orders he was giving you. Your hands were clenched in fists at your side, your nails digging into your palms, as you listened to him list off all of the things that you were going to have to change - things like your daily routine, hiring security for the mansion, vetting all of the hired help, being escorted everywhere you went, even changing things like the stores you normally shopped. Your freedom was gone, all because of some stupid death threats that probably didn’t mean anything.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel where your press junket was being held. You reached for the door, but Dean reached past you and yanked it closed. You ground your teeth together and tried not to scream.

“I’ll come around and open the door,” Dean said. “Stay put.” He disappeared out the other side of the car.

You rolled your eyes and let out a tiny scream of frustration. You caught the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Is he always this annoying?” you laughed nervously.

“Only when he’s trying to keep someone from getting killed,” he answered, sarcasm dripping from every word. He stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. 

You rubbed your forehead, praying that the twitching behind your eye wasn’t signaling another oncoming headache. You  _ were _  being a bitch, and you knew it, showcasing every stereotype about snotty, spoiled actresses that existed. Shit, every stereotype about  _ you _  that existed. These men were here to keep you safe, not to intentionally ruin your life. You could at least try and be a little bit cooperative.

The door beside you opened and Dean appeared. You took his proffered hand, let him help you from the vehicle, and gave him a smile that would hopefully smooth over the bitchiness you’d served up. Dean barely glanced at you, his back ramrod straight, his hands balled at his sides, his face hard and stoic. You wondered if he ever smiled. 

Georgia was waiting in the lobby, rushing over as soon as she saw you, smiling and nodding at Dean, then taking your arm and leading you deep into the hotel. As you walked, she filled you in on your schedule for the day. Your head was already pounding. It was going to be a long day. 

Once you were in the elevator, she pressed her mouth to your ear. “Your bodyguard is attractive,” she whispered, giggling.

You shook your head, a smile on your face. Georgia wasn’t wrong. Dean was almost too attractive, and damned if the wheels in your head weren’t spinning wondering if he was available. Of course, Georgia would comment on Dean’s attractiveness. She was a sucker for an attractive guy, had been every since college. If you didn’t watch out, your manager would be stealing away your bodyguard for some private time. You’d have to keep an eye on him.

The elevator doors opened and Dean stepped out, peered up and down the corridor, then he gestured for you to come out. He guided you down the hall, his hand a comforting weight on the small of your back. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, reminding yourself that this man worked for you, he was here to protect you, you couldn’t fall for him, no matter how attractive he was. 

* * *

I stifled a yawn and checked my watch for the hundredth time. According to Georgia, Y/N’s flirty manager, this press junket thing should wrap up within the hour. Then it was back to her mansion for a few hours before a party at some studio executive’s house in the hills. 

I wanted this day to be over. I was still rattled by Y/N’s uncanny resemblance to my wife. It was messing with my head. I had to keep reminding myself that she wasn’t Melissa, that she was a job. I needed to keep it professional, keep my cool, I couldn’t let this get personal just because of some weird coincidence.

“Dean?” Georgia knelt beside me and poked me in the arm. “Y/N’s ready to go. Let’s get her out of here quick. She’s not feeling well.”

“Is she okay?” I asked, rising to my feet. 

“She’s fine, just a headache,” Georgia shrugged. “She just needs to rest for a while and she’ll be as good as new.”

Y/N came around the corner, her face pinched, her arms crossed in front of her. She didn’t look fine to me, in fact, she looked awful. She didn’t stop, just marched past me, headed for the elevator. I hurried to catch up with her, slipping in just before the doors closed, leaving Georgia staring after us.

“Are you alright?” I moved to stand right beside her in the crowded elevator, close, putting my body between her and everyone else inside. She looked up at me, her y/e/c brimming with tears.

“Not really,” she murmured. “Migraine. I...I just want to go home and sleep.”

An urge to wrap my arms around this woman, to hold her close, to protect her, came over me. She looked so small and vulnerable, nothing like the sassy, strong-minded woman I’d met this morning. I reached for her, but forced myself to do no more than put my hand on her arm, squeezing gently.

“Let’s get you home,” I whispered.

I led her from the elevator and through the huge crowd of people, all headed for the front door. I could see Tiny standing beside the SUV through the glass windows, sunglasses on, scanning the crowd. I waved at him to let him know I was coming. He straightened up and put his hand on the car door, ready to open it.

The shots rang out almost as soon as we stepped out the door. Without thinking, I turned around and stepped in front of Y/N, my body shielding hers, my arms going around her as I tried to push her back inside. The crowd surged as one, turning toward the doors. We were bumped and jostled from all sides, surrounded by screaming, frightened people, pushed in the direction I didn’t want to go, out toward the street, toward the gunfire. I could hear Tiny shouting, then another gunshot, then Y/N and I were falling to the ground, my body on hers, my only concern protecting her.

Tiny appeared by my side, kneeling next to us. I scooped Y/N up and Tiny helped me to my feet, the two of us sprinting for the SUV, Y/N safe in my arms. Tiny ripped open the back door and I shoved Y/N inside, stumbling in after her. Tiny threw the car in gear, the tires squealing as he tore away from the curb.

“Ow, fuck,” she moaned, pushing herself away from me,sitting up, her hand to her head.

It was only then that I noticed the blood running down her face, staining the collar of her blouse. I reached for her, but she pushed me away.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me,” she snapped. She pulled her hand away from her head and looked it, her eyes widening at the sight of the blood covering it. 

“Y/N,” I breathed, cupping her chin in my hand, turning her head to look at the wound.

She stared at me, tears in the corner of her eyes, her face pale, frightened. “I don’t feel so good, Dean,” she murmured, just before she collapsed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean begins to doubt his ability to protect you, while your resemblance to his wife continues to haunt him. You struggle to accept the protection you so obviously need.

 

“You idjit!” Bobby yelled, loud enough that I had to hold the phone away from my ear to keep from going deaf. “First day on the job and you got her shot!”

“She’s not shot, Bobby,” I interrupted. “She hit her head on the concrete. A couple of stitches, that’s it.”

“What the fuck happened, Dean?” he grumbled, only slightly calmer now that he knew Y/N had not been shot.

“We walked out the door, there was a gunshot, then another,” I explained. “Y/N and I ended up on the ground. Once we were in the car, I noticed the blood. Tiny drove us straight to the hospital.”

“Were they after Y/N?” Bobby asked. “Or was it a coincidence?” 

“Tiny’s at the hotel now, talking with the police,” I replied. “But, unless whoever did this comes forward, we won’t know if those bullets were meant for Y/N or if we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the emergency room doctor come through the swinging doors. “I have to go, Bobby. I’ll call you later.” I disconnected the call and shoved my phone in my pocket.

I spent a few minutes talking to the doctor before a nurse led me through the swinging doors to the back rooms. Y/N was in a corner room, secluded, away from the other patients. I’d insisted on privacy and they’d been more than happy to give it to her. The nurse pulled open a glass door covered by a curtain. Y/N was sitting on the bed, arms crossed, a bandage on her forehead, staring at the wall. She smiled grimly at me.

“Hey,” I said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” she scoffed. “I want to go home.”

“I’m going to get her discharge paperwork,” the nurse explained. “Give me a few minutes.”

I nodded, pulled out my phone, and sent a quick message to Tiny, instructing him to find some place to pick us up that would be out of the eye of the press. I leaned against the wall by the door, waiting, keeping myself as far from Y/N as possible.

It was quiet, tense and uncomfortable, for the next few minutes, Y/N staring at the wall, me staring at the floor. I could barely look at her; I kept seeing her after she’d passed out in the SUV, limp, pale, blood covering her face, which only reminded me of Melissa lying on the floor, limp, pale, dying. It was killing me, opening up barely healed wounds I was pretending didn’t exist.

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh. “Am I getting out of here any time soon?”

“It should be much longer,” I said.

“I fucking hate hospitals,” she muttered. “I just want to go home.”

I didn’t get a chance to respond because my phone rang, earning me an irritated huff from Y/N. Tiny filled me in on what had happened with the cops and promised me he would find a place out of sight of any press to pick us up. I cut the call short when the nurse returned to the room. It didn’t take long to get the discharge paperwork signed and Y/N situated in the wheelchair. She grumbled, but agreed to follow hospital rules. I directed the nurse to where we needed to go, following her as she turned down hallway after hallway, finally stopping in front of a door leading out to a dark alley. I thanked her and promised we wouldn’t move until our ride arrived. She left us to wait, reluctantly.I leaned against the door, staring out the window.  

“I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Y/N said, so quietly I almost missed it.

“Excuse me?” I mumbled, turning toward her, my eyes meeting hers.

“What I said about you trying to kill me,” she said. “I didn’t mean it. And...and I’m also sorry about being so difficult and bitchy. You’re just trying to do your job, to protect me. I shouldn’t fight you. I’ll...I’ll do whatever you need me to do. You tell me, I’ll do it.”

“You sure?” I asked. “You didn’t seem too thrilled -”

“That was before someone took a couple of shots at me,” she snapped. Her mouth closed, her teeth clicking together. She took a deep breath. “Sorry. Yes, I’m sure. Whatever I have to do.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I appreciate the cooperation.” I turned back to the window, praying I would see Tiny pulling up. My heart was hammering in my chest and my gut was twisted in knots. Every second I spent with Y/N was messing with my head. I could almost believe the woman I loved was still alive.

“I guess I missed that party at the exec’s house,” Y/N grumbled, dragging my attention back to her. 

“Your manager was going to go, smooth things over,” I reassured her.

“It’ll just be fodder for the press,” she murmured. “Y/N Y/L/N misses yet another important event. Blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m sure Georgia will smooth things over,” I said. I kept my eyes on a spot just past her head, still unable to look at her.

Y/N kept fidgeting with her phone, turning it over and over, again and again. She jumped when it vibrated in her hand, squinting as she opened it to read the text.

I stared out the glass door, watching, praying for Tiny to appear in the SUV. I was concerned about Y/N, I didn’t like the pinched look on her face, or how tired and pale she looked. She needed to get home and rest. And I needed a drink and a chance to clear my head.

“Dean,” she whispered.

“Hm?” I hummed, still staring out the door.

“Dean!”

She was holding her phone out, her hands trembling so much I couldn’t make out what was on the screen. I snatched it out of her hand before it hit the floor. It was open to the text message she had just received.

_ I told you what would happen if you left the house. Next time I won’t miss. _

* * *

A good night’s sleep was all you needed to pull yourself together, at least that was what you kept telling yourself. You’d been a shaking, crying mess when Dean had ushered you into the car and in full-on panic mode by the time you got home. You wouldn’t let Dean leave until you’d called your assistant and best friend Charlie to come over; even Dean’s assurances that some of Singer Protective Services’ best men were stationed outside had done nothing to calm your nerves.

But Charlie’s arrival had had a calming affect on you. She’d swooped through the kitchen door, red hair flying, wearing one of her ridiculous t-shirts. She had you in her arms the second she saw you, hugging you so hard you couldn’t breathe. 

“Oh my God, I was so worried about you,” she’d said, her eyes brimming with tears. “When I saw the news-”

“Shit, it’s on the news?” you’d muttered.

Charlie had nodded and handed you her tablet. It seemed like every news site and gossip site on the web had posted something about what had happened, most of it wildly inaccurate. The only thing they seemed to be getting right was that someone had taken a shot at you.

You’d been furious, ready to blow, but Charlie, in that way she had, had calmed you down and somehow managed to usher you into your room, thank Dean and scoot him out the door, all before you knew what was happening.

The morning light found you much calmer, more together, your hands no longer shaking, your stomach calm enough that you thought you could eat. After a warm shower, you felt almost human again. You went in search of Charlie, finally finding her in the kitchen with a tablet, a fresh pot of coffee brewing on the counter.

“There you are,” you smiled.

“Hey, how are you?” She hurried across the room, taking your arm and looking into your eyes. 

“I’m fine,” you muttered, pulling away. You’d had enough of people making a fuss over you. You’d let your guard down the night before, opened yourself up, let yourself feel vulnerable. But it was a new day and you just wanted everyone to act like things were normal, no more hovering over you, babying you. 

“What’s on the agenda today?” you asked, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

Charlie rolled her eyes, but she grabbed her tablet and gave you a quick rundown of your day, culminating in the fundraiser for the women’s center later that evening. A five hundred dollar a plate fundraiser that you could not miss, not when you were the one spearheading the event. You checked the clock on the stove. It was almost nine. You were already running behind.

“Have you seen my bodyguard?” you asked.

“Your bodyguard?” Charlie mumbled. “The muscle-y, green-eyed brooding guy from last night? That’s your bodyguard?”

“Yeah, the-so-attractive-you-want-to-die guy,” you grinned. “His name’s Dean. Him?”

“Well, he’s no Scarlett Johansson,” Charlie laughed. “But, yeah, I did see him. He’s in the office, the one with all the monitors that don’t work.”

You nodded your understanding and hurried back through the mansion to the security office, a room that was never used. Shortly after you’d moved in, you’d had all of the cameras disconnected. The thought of having every move you made recorded gave you the creeps.

Dean was just hanging up his phone when you stepped into the office. He shoved it into his pocket, a grim look on his face. He pointed to the black monitors in the room.

“None of these work?” he asked.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” you muttered. “And no, they don’t work. I had them disconnected. Why?”

“They’re being reconnected, later today. Bobby’s sending over a crew later today,” Dean explained.

“I don’t want them -”

Dean shot a dirty look your direction, silencing you. “No arguments.”

“Bullshit, no arguments,” you snapped. “This is my house, my life under scrutiny. I don’t want those cameras reconnected. I don’t want to be under twenty-four hour surveillance.”

“Do you want to be dead?” he growled. “Someone took a shot at you last night and then was kind enough to let you know that next time, they wouldn’t miss. Goddamn it Melissa, why can’t you just let me protect you?”

Dean froze, his eyes wide, his fists clenched at his sides. He cleared his throat, staring over your shoulder, refusing to make eye contact with you.

“Melissa?” you murmured. “Who’s Melissa?” 

“It’s not important,” he mumbled, though you didn’t believe that for a second. “I’m sorry, but, I’m not arguing with you about this. The cameras are being reinstalled.” He pushed past you, headed for the front door. “I’m going to go check in with Tiny. Make sure we’re good for today.”

“Dean?” you called after him.

He stopped, though he didn’t turn, shoulders, tight, tense. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Do you own a tux?”

* * *

I hated monkey suits. Hated them. Wearing a regular suit wasn’t any better, but there was something about a tux that just...annoyed me. I put a finger between my throat and the collar of the shirt, pulling on it, hoping it would make me more comfortable. It didn’t.

I’d tried to get someone to cover me for the night, but Bobby told me to “suck it up, buttercup,” there was no one else, not with my brother still in Vancouver. I’d avoided being alone with Y/N all day; my mind was all fucked up, the similarities between her and Melissa were too great, almost too much to handle. I was finding myself attracted to Y/N, but I didn’t know if it was really an attraction to her or because she reminded me of the woman I’d loved and lost. Calling her by dead wife’s name had been too much. I’d escaped - talking to Tiny, directing the reinstallation of the cameras - anything to avoid her. Anything. But now, it was just me, charged with her protection, watching her every move.

I tracked Y/N with my eyes as she moved around the room, mingling, chatting with everyone, smiling, laughing. Every now and then she’d touch a hand to the bandage on her head and the bruise blossoming beneath it, shrugging and waving off any comments made about it. She was in her element.

She looked gorgeous, breathtakingly gorgeous, in a long, off-the-shoulder, purple gown, though that wasn’t what made her beautiful. It was the way she moved, the way she cared herself, the smile, the laugh. It was everything.

I rubbed a hand over my face, pinched the bridge of my nose. I needed to snap out of it, stop lusting after my client. Just because she looked like my wife -

“Well, shit, if it isn’t Dean Winchester.” The voice came from behind me, loud, obnoxious, familiar. I turned slowly, praying it wasn’t who I thought it was.

Tyson Brady.

I’d known Brady for years, since I was in the Seals. He and Sam had gone to school together, then Sam had gone on to college and Brady had joined the Army. He’d been medically discharged a couple of years after me, bum knee. Bobby had hired all three of us - me, Sam, and Brady - to work in his security firm at the same time. Two years ago, Bobby had let Brady go after several high level clients, female clients, had complained. I’d dug deeper into the complaints, under Bobby’s instructions, and discovered that Brady had been making unwanted advances towards them, aggressive advances. When we’d confronted him, showed him the evidence I’d discovered, he’d been angrier than any of us had ever seen him, threatening to pay us all back for destroying his life. I hadn’t seen him since, though I’d heard through the grapevine that he was working as an independent security consultant. 

“Brady, how you been, man?” I said, shaking his hand. I didn’t think this could go any way but bad.

“Good, good,” he smiled, pumping my arm furiously. “Dude, sorry to hear about your wife. That sucks. How you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay,” I mumbled. I was wary, but if he was going to be friendly, well, then so was I. “You here on a job?” 

“Yeah, some pompous ass forking over a shit ton of money to this week’s charity, trying to get in the lady of the hour’s pants,” Brady laughed. “You?”

I pointed at Y/N. “The lady of the hour,” I said.

“Wow, she’s a hot commodity. Nice. How do you always manage to get all the attractive ones?” Brady tipped his head to the side, scrutinizing Y/N. “Wow, she looks just like Melissa, doesn’t she?” 

“A little, I guess,” I replied, trying to brush off the comment.

“From what I hear, you’ve got your work cut out for you. Word has it she’s a pistol.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumbled. “She’s a handful.”

“Oh, really,” Brady chuckled. “You should fill me in on the details.” He dug his elbow into my side.

Y/N looked my direction and gestured for me to join her. I straightened up, adjusting my jacket and tie. “Excuse me, Brady, but I need to go. Have a good night.”

“I’ll call you. We’ll catch up,” he called after me.

I didn’t acknowledge what he’d said, praying it wouldn’t happen. I hurried to Y/N’s side. She looked pale, tired. I took her elbow, let her lean against me.

“You okay?” I whispered, my mouth pressed to her ear, her scent filling my nostrils.

“Tired,” she answered, still smiling. “And I feel a headache coming on. Anyway you can get me out of here without making a big deal out of it?”

“Of course,” I said, glancing around, looking for an exit. “See that door over there, meet me there in five minutes. I’ll have Tiny meet us at the side entrance.”

Twenty minutes later we were pulling past her mansion gate and heading up the drive. Tiny parked on the side of the house, in the shadows. I gave Y/N a look when she reached for the door, prompting her to fold her hands in her lap and mutter ‘sorry.’ I could hear Tiny chuckling as I climbed from the car. 

I helped Y/N from the car and followed her into the house, watching as she slipped off her shoes, tossing them on an empty chair. She laid on the couch, her arm over her eyes, her lips pursed in pain.

“I feel like shit,” she mumbled. 

“I’m gonna check the house,” I commented. “I’ll bring you back some water.”

“There’s some Excedrin on the table in the kitchen,” she whispered. “Could you bring me a couple?”

“Sure,” I nodded. 

I spent the next few minutes checking the house, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, checking the security office and the newly installed cameras, and calling the night shift guards to give them their assignments. I finished in the kitchen, filling a glass with water from the jug in the corner. I snatched the bottle of pills from the table, noticing for the first time, the folded piece of paper with Y/N’s name on it, written in large, almost childlike handwriting.

I didn’t like the feeling in my gut, the same feeling I’d had right before Amara had started firing, that sick to my stomach feeling. I picked up the paper and opened it.

_ You’re not safe anywhere. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean reveals what happened to his wife.

 

“He’s escalating, Bobby,” I said. “That note on the table was only twenty-four hours after the text message.”

“The camera’s pick anything up?” Bobby said. “Anyone unusual?”

“Not anyone that wasn’t supposed to be in the house or on the grounds,” I explained. “Y/N’s manager, her assistant, the housekeeper, couple of people working the grounds that never came inside, that was it. But, it could’ve happened before all the cameras were activated, too. I don’t fucking know.” I resisted the urge to chuck the nearest lamp across the room.

“Any word on the number the text came from?” Bobby asked.

“It’s a burner phone,” I sighed, pushing a hand through my hair. “I’ve got Tiny trying to run down where it was bought, but I’m not expecting much.”

“How’s Y/N holding up?” Bobby asked.

“Not good,” I replied. “She said the one place she felt safe was here in the mansion. Now that’s gone, too. I’m, uh, I’m gonna stay with her. She doesn’t want me to leave.”

I glanced out the open office door, across the foyer to the large living room. Y/N was sitting upright on the couch, stiff as a board, her eyes darting around the room every few seconds. She’d turned down the water I’d brought her, replacing it with scotch. Glass after glass of scotch. I’d offered to walk her up to her room, wait while she got settled, but she’d refused, shaking her head so hard her hair flew around her face. 

“I don’t want to be alone,” she’d mumbled. “You’ll stay, right? You won’t leave me alone?”

I’d agreed, of course, the fear on her face eating away at me. I wanted - needed - to make her feel safe. I’d do whatever I had to in order to accomplish that.

“I’ll send one of the boys to your place to pick you up some stuff,” Bobby offered, pulling my attention back to our conversation. 

“There’s a go bag in my office,” I said. “Just have somebody bring it by.”

“You got it,” Bobby agreed. “An hour at the most.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” I disconnected the call and shoved my phone in my pocket, before crossing the foyer. Y/N was now on her feet, staring out the window, gripping the glass in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white, the cubes rattling in the glass. I cleared my throat to get her attention.

She jumped, the glass falling from her hand and bouncing across the carpeted floor. She bent to grab it, but I reached it first, scooping it off the floor and setting it on the low coffee table. Fortunately, it had been empty of everything save the ice cubes.

The tight smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes. After everything with the note, I’d forgotten about her headache. The pain was evident in every line of her body. I wasn’t sure how she was still standing.

I reached for her, my every instinct screaming at me to pull her into my arms. She fell against me, her face buried against my chest, sighing deeply, her hands wrapped in the lapels of my jacket.

“You should get some sleep,” I murmured, hugging her, gently patting her back. Christ, what was she doing to me?

“Are you staying?” she asked, her voice muffled.

I nodded. “I’ll crash down here on the couch. One of Bobby’s men is bringing me a bag.”

She was shaking her head before the words were out of my mouth, stepping back to look up at me. “The room across the hall from mine is a guest room, with an attached bathroom. You can stay in there.”

I shook my head. That was not a good idea, being that close to her, not when she was this vulnerable, not when I was having trouble concentrating on my job as it was. “It’s okay, I’ll be fine down here.”

“Please, Dean? I...I just won’t feel safe if you’re down here. It’s...it’s too far away.” She was twisting her hands nervously in front of her and staring at the floor. “Please?”

* * *

You’d been pacing your room for an hour, round and round in circles. Every sound made you jump, every shadow held an unseen threat. Your hair was standing on end from running your fingers through it, your makeup was smudged from the tears you’d shed, your head was throbbing, like it was enclosed in a vice. Sleep was elusive. You weren’t sure you’d ever sleep again.

You threw yourself on the bed, hugging your pillow to your chest, seeking some kind of comfort. You closed your eyes, remembering, reliving, the hug with Dean. The thought made you relax just enough that your eyes drifted closed and the muscles in the back of your neck seemed to loosen, the tension easing, if only a little. You hated how this ordeal had made you feel weak, as if you couldn’t control anything, like you were some damsel in distress and Dean was a knight in a dark suit.

Maybe, just maybe, Dean was what you needed. Not that you were thinking of throwing yourself at him - that was beneath you - but it couldn’t hurt to ask if he would come back to your room. There was a sofa against the wall with a hide-a-bed, he could always sleep there. Just having him in the same room would make you feel better.

Of course, things looked different standing outside his room, your shaking hand raised to knock on the door, your blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You didn’t see how this would look like anything other than a booty call. But, once your knuckles connected with the oak, it was too late to take it back. You almost turned around and ran back to your room even as the door was opening.

“Y/N?” Dean asked, his voice filled with concern. “Everything okay?”

“Can I come in?” you whispered.

He nodded, stepping back and opening the door wider. He was the most relaxed you’d seen him since you’d met; his jacket and bow tie were off, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, his shoes off. He set the glass of amber liquid in his hand on the table beside the bed and gestured for you to sit down. You perched on the side of the bed, staring at your feet, the silence heavy, oppressive.

“Y/N?” he prompted.

The tears were threatening, again, and that only made you want to scream. Sitting here made you feel even more vulnerable, made you feel like you were begging Dean to feel sorry for you. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Screw begging him to come sleep in your room, you’d stay in here, awake, all night if you had to. Being close to him, just talking to him, made you feel better. 

“Can I stay here for a little while?” you murmured. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“If you want,” he shrugged. He took a seat across from you on the edge of the chair, his elbows on his knees, hands folded in front of him, staring at the ground.

“I bet you get this a lot, huh?” you asked. “In your line of work, I mean. Damsel in distress, whining in your room.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had this happen before,” Dean chuckled, shaking his head. He exhaled sharply, like maybe he’d been holding his breath. “You’re allowed to whine, you know that, right? Life has handed you a steaming pile of shit, Y/N, I wouldn’t expect you to be laughing and smiling. You’re entitled to your feelings, to be afraid, to whine, cry, scream, bitch, drink until you’re falling down drunk. You could hide in your house for six months ignoring everyone and everything in your life until the pain feels like it’s eating you alive, until you feel like you’re suffocating under the strain of it, and the only choices you have left are to call it quits and let the pain have you, or shove it down deep, wrestle it into its cage, and go back to your life, faking it until you’re making it, or until that bullet misses its mark and takes you out.”

“Is that what you want?” you asked. “Is that why you do this? You’re just waiting to take a bullet and die?”

Dean refused to look you in the eye, instead staring at a spot on the floor. “You can stay as long as you want,” he muttered, sitting back and putting his feet up on the edge of the bed. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

You watched him for a few minutes, wondering what was going on in that head of his, wondering what had happened that had him chasing death. You laid down on your side, facing Dean, adjusting the blanket around you until you were comfortable. You watched him until your eyes closed and you fell asleep.

* * *

_ The first shot shattered the glass of red wine on the table, glass exploding everywhere. I turned and threw myself to my left, my arms going around Chuck and dropping him to the floor, shots still ringing out. I heard Melissa yell, though I couldn’t make out what she said, not over the sound of the screaming crowd. I heard another shot come from the other side of the room, then gunfire from my right. I grabbed the back of Chuck’s jacket and dragged him backwards until we were behind a table, a makeshift blockade. _

_ “Melissa!” I couldn’t find her, didn’t see her anywhere. “Melissa!” I pulled my gun from the holster beneath my jacket and looked around the edge of the table, keeping Chuck behind me. People were running toward the other side of the room, the com in my ear exploding with rapid fire conversation, “she’s over here, we’ve got her pinned down, stand down, stand down.” _

_ I didn’t hear Melissa, couldn’t see her. She’d been right behind me, two, maybe three steps, covering my flank. My eyes darted around the room, trying to find my wife. _

_ “Melissa!” _

“Dean! Dean!”

I shot upright, my feet hitting the ground, my dead wife’s name on my lips. Y/N was kneeling beside me, her hand on my arm, gently shaking me.

“I’m sorry, but you were yelling, thrashing around,” she muttered.

“No-no, it’s okay,” I mumbled. “Just a nightmare.” I ran a hand over my face, trying to wipe away the lingering pain and fear.

“Who’s Melissa?” she asked, pushing herself to her feet.

“Y/N -” I shook my head.

“No, I get it,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I thought, you know, I’m here, you’re here, I’d make a good sounding board. You’ve mentioned her name a couple of times. I’m assuming she’s important to you.”

I grabbed the now empty glass of scotch from the table and refilled it, downing it in two swallows, relishing the burn as it traveled down my throat. I quickly refilled the glass. I scrubbed the back of my hand over my lips, exhaling sharply, eyes pricking with tears.

“Melissa’s my wife,” I said.

“You’re married.” She seemed surprised.

“My dead wife,” I clarified. 

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N murmured. “I didn’t know. Was that...you were dreaming about her?”

I opened my mouth to tell her it was none of her business, to go back to sleep, that I didn’t want to talk about it. Not now, not ever. But that’s not what came out. 

“Every night, I wake up with the image of Melissa covered in blood burned into the back of my eyelids. I can hear her ragged breathing as she struggles to draw in a breath echoing in my ears, I can feel her fingers digging into my arms as she tries to hold on, I can see the light fading from her eyes. I wake up knowing that I’m the reason my wife is dead.” I swiped at the tears rolling down my face, angry that the wall I’d so carefully built over the last six months had come crumbling down so easily, knocked down by a woman I barely knew.

“What do you mean, you’re the reason she’s dead?” she asked.

“We were on a job, me, Melissa, my brother Sam, protecting this big time writer whose sister had threatened him. She’d gone after him a couple of times, never succeeded, but he was scared. We’d been working as his bodyguards for two or three months, and nothing had happened. I don’t know, maybe we’d all let our guards down, thought that she had given up. One night, there was this huge party, so huge that Bobby sent in all three of us. We hadn’t been inside ten minutes before Amara let loose, bullets flying everywhere. I tackled Chuck, got him behind a table. Saved his life.” I stopped to take a breath, the lump in my throat making it hard to swallow.

“But -” Y/N prompted.

I cleared my throat and took another drink from the glass in my hand. “When the dust cleared, Chuck was okay, so was my brother, but Melissa…” Another drink from the glass. “She’d been behind me. When I’d tackled Chuck, moving him out of the way, I’d left Melissa vulnerable. She was hit twice, once in the chest, once in the abdomen. She bled out before help could get there.”

I couldn’t stand up anymore, couldn’t hold my weight up, not after dumping all that on Y/N. I dropped to the end of the bed, my head in my hands, tears sliding down my face, my shoulders shaking. “I killed her. She died because I couldn’t protect her. It’s my fault, mine.” I dragged in a stuttering breath. “It should have been me.”

Y/N’s hand closed over mine, her head on my shoulder. “Dean, you didn’t kill her,” she whispered.

“Everyone’s been telling me that for six months,” I sighed. “Trying to convince me to stop punishing myself, telling me there was nothing I could or should have done differently. But they’re wrong. I could have taken those bullets, hell, I should have taken them. She’d be alive right now if I’d let those bullets hit me. And I wouldn’t be spending everyday of my life wishing I was dead.”

“Don’t say that -”

“It’s true, Y/N,” I cut her off. “I’m worthless. No good. I shouldn’t even be trying to protect you.”

She was suddenly in front of me, her finger jabbing into my chest. “God damn it, Dean, you are not worthless. You are the only reason I feel safe right now, the only reason I’m not out of my mind with fear, because I know you will keep me safe. You, Dean Winchester.”

I looked up at her, my mouth open to protest, to argue with her, but instead I found my hands on her waist, her body flush against mine, my lips crashing into hers. I needed to feel alive again, to feel like there was something good in my life, something good in me. I found myself wanting her to be the one to make me feel that way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have shifted between you and Dean. A harsh truth comes to light.

 

I pulled her down onto the bed with me, falling backwards onto the stack of pillows and jumbled blankets. I cupped her face in my hands, nibbling at her lower lip, groaning when she opened her mouth and let me in, her tongue dancing with mine, her arms sliding around my neck, her knees on either side of my hips. She tasted like raspberries and a hint of scotch, her lips soft and supple as they moved with mine. She felt good, perfect, almost as if she was meant to be in my arms.

I lost myself in the feel of her, the taste of her on my lips. The dark surrounded us, cutting us off from everything, both of us forgetting all the shit happening in the world around us, the only thing that existed was me and her. I ran my hands over her body, exploring her, memorizing every curve, every angle, every inch. I caressed her, kissed her, held her, let her into that place in my heart that I’d closed off after Melissa’s death. 

I don’t know how long we kissed, how long I held her, my body thrumming with need for her, wanting her and not wanting her, my head and my heart in a constant battle for control of my feelings.  When Y/N pushed herself to her knees, sitting back on my thighs, her hands on the hem of her shirt, I put my hands on hers, stopping her.

“No, Y/N, that’s not what I want,” I whispered, shaking my head. I didn’t want to use her and throw her away. Shit, I didn’t know what I wanted.

She let go of her shirt, leaned over me, her hands on either side of my head, her lips on my mine. She rolled to her side, still kissing me, pulling me with her. We laid like that, tangled together, until we both fell asleep.  

* * *

You woke to the sound of pounding, distant, faint, but insistent. You untangled yourself from Dean’s arms, slipped out of the bed, and out the door. Charlie was standing in front of your bedroom door, knocking.

“Charlie.”

She swung around, startled. “What the hell, Y/N?” she whispered, her eyes darting back and forth between your door and the door you’d just come out. “Why aren’t you...what are you doing?”

“I was...I’m...it’s nothing,” you muttered, pulling the door closed behind you. “Why are you pounding on my door?”

“You have to leave in an hour,” she answered. “The press conference?”

“Shit, I forgot.” You pushed a hand through your hair. “Alright, give me, I don’t know, forty-five minutes, an hour and I’ll be down.”

“Alright, but make it fast,” she muttered. “Here.” She shoved a huge cup of coffee into your hands before hurrying back down the hall.

You waited for Charlie to get to the end of the hall before stepping back into the bedroom. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting. He rose to his feet as you came through the door, pushing it closed behind you and setting your coffee on the bureau. Before the door had even clicked shut, he was in front of you, one hand on the door by your head, one on your waist as he leaned over you, those green eyes staring into your soul. You put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down, your lips meeting his for a brief second. His breath blew over you as he sighed.

“Are you sorry?” you murmured.

He was quiet, long enough for you to realize he  _ was _  sorry about what had happened between you. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head and rested his forehead against yours. 

“I don’t want to be,” he sighed. “I just…there’s all this chatter in my head. Telling me all kinds of things that I don’t want to hear,” Dean admitted, voice gruff and downright sexy. “Things that I need to comb through and figure out.”

You pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s okay,” you said, unconsciously running your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “I understand.” You stepped into him, your body flush with his, your arms sliding around his waist. You pushed up on your toes and kissed the underside of his chin. 

Dean nodded, his chin bumping the top of your head as he moved. He pressed a kiss to your temple before looking at his watch. “You should get ready. You’ve got that press conference in an hour.”

You nodded, reached back and twisted the knob, then you freed yourself from his grip, grabbed your coffee, and stepped out the door. “You’re right. I’ll see you in a little bit.” You turned and sprinted across the hall, your bedroom door slamming behind you.

“Fuck,” you muttered, banging your head on the door behind you. What the fuck were you doing? Falling for your bodyguard? 

And you were definitely falling. This wasn’t a crush, a passing fancy like your mom used to say, or even you lusting after Dean because he was so damn attractive; this was you feeling something you’d never felt before, wanting something you’d never realized you wanted. You had that feeling down in the pit of your gut, that anxious, nervous flutter whenever he was around. There was a feeling of rightness whenever you were with him, a feeling like this was where you were meant to be.

* * *

I closed the door behind Y/N, leaning against it, my palms flat against the hard oak, head hanging. What the fuck was I doing? Getting close to a client like that, letting her get under my skin. I’d once been the consummate professional, but apparently I’d thrown all of those values away for an actress that looked like my wife. I couldn’t wrap my head around how I’d let this happen, how I’d fallen done this rabbit hole with a woman I’d known for less than a week. It didn’t matter who she looked like, I never should have let it get this far.

I hadn’t been lying when I told Y/N that my head was filled with chatter, that I had a lot of things I had to sort through. My thoughts were jumbled, crazy, and I needed to work through all of it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My head was telling me it had to stop and right now, before things went any further, regardless of the twisted, sick feeling in my gut screaming at me that I was making a mistake, that this woman could change my life, make it better. I pushed those thoughts and feelings down deep inside. I had a job to do, a job I planned to finish. Then, and only then, would I be able to make a decision. It needed to be business as usual until this was over.

I shoved away from the door and grabbed my bag. I needed to clean up and get changed. I had work to do.

A half an hour later, I was downstairs with Starbucks in my hand - thanks to Tiny - checking the security monitors in the office. I heard voices in the hall, Georgia and Y/N, joined a few seconds later by Charlie. They went over Y/N’s agenda for the day before separating.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” Y/N said, sliding into a chair beside me, close enough that her leg was touching mine, her hand on my arm.

“I thought I’d go over the footage from yesterday again,” I replied, rolling the chair away from her, putting a foot or so between us. I tried to ignore the hurt look on her face.

“Did you find anything?” she asked.

“Not yet,” I answered. “But, I’ll keep looking.” I checked the watch on my wrist. “We need to go. We’re running late.” I pushed myself to my feet and hurried from the room, not waiting for her to answer or even follow. I scurried out the front door to the SUV, holding the doors open for her and her entourage before climbing in the front seat.

The car ride to the conference center was short, thank God. I wasn’t happy about having to endure Georgia’s constant chatter and the long, awkward, sidelong glances from Y/N. I was out of the car before it stopped, sprinting up the sidewalk through the double doors of the conference center.

Charlie and Georgia were hot on my heels. We were running late, as they’d both continually told me on the way over, but I wasn’t about to let Y/N inside without doing at least a quick recon and familiarizing myself with the place. While I was struggling with my feelings for Y/N, I did know how to do my job.

I’d hoped the press conference would be canceled, but of course, the show had to go on. Even Y/N had expressed her disappointment that it was still happening, though I had to give the movie studio credit, they were trying. Security was tight, thanks to the shooting earlier in the week - metal detectors, bag searches, even additional security personnel at all doors. Of course, that didn’t do much to alleviate my worries. I only trusted my own people, which was why I had called Bobby and asked him to send over some additional staff.

The trio met me in the lobby. Ash, our resident tech genius, a graduate of MIT; Garth, not exactly the bodyguard type - gangly and a little awkward - but he was a good guy, loyal to a fault, and a hard worker trying to get some field experience before Bobby put him in a management position; and Jo, Bobby’s daughter and quite frankly, the muscle of the group. I dared anyone to fuck with Jo and come out of it alive. She hadn’t earned that scar on her neck playing dolls; someone had pulled a knife and lunged after her charge. She’d dove between them, got the blade in her neck, and still taken the guy down without even flinching. Aside from Sam, my brother, Bobby couldn’t have sent me a better group.

Ash, his mullet pulled into a ponytail, distributed coms while I gave everyone a rundown of where I wanted them and what I wanted them doing. Georgia disappeared into the crowd of reporters, after thanking me for everything I was doing for Y/N and encouraging me to hurry things up. Charlie stood to the side, checking her watch every few seconds, earning her a dirty look from Jo.

“You got a problem, Red?” she finally spat out.

Charlie took a step back, her eyes wide and frightened. “N-no,” she stammered. “I’m...I’m good.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jo muttered.

I put a hand on her arm, trying to hold back the laughter as I told her to chill. She gave me one of her patented “don’t fuck with me” smiles, turned on her heels, and made a beeline for her position by the door, not letting anyone or anything deter her. Ash followed her, mumbling something under his breath about scanning the inside of the auditorium.

“Come on, Garth, you’re with me,” I chuckled. 

Garth trailed after me, a bit like a lost puppy, though I knew if push came to shove, he’d do whatever needed to be done. Once I had Y/N out of the SUV, he swapped places with Tiny, driving off to park the vehicle in a predetermined, secure location.

I led Y/N inside, guiding her without touching her, keeping my hands to myself, reminding myself over and over that I was a professional, I was on the job. That didn’t stop my fingers from itching with the need to touch her, to take her hand, to pull her against my side and tuck her under my arm. I was seriously fucked.

* * *

You hated these things, hated having to sit and listen to people shout questions at you, most of them ridiculous, all of them repetitive, things you’d been asked more times than you could count, and never about the movie you were there to promote. There were only so many ways you could answer the same question over and over before it got annoying. Today might be one of those days.

You were a nervous wreck, thinking everyone was  _ him _ , every unfamiliar face was the person who for some reason had decided they wanted you dead; every noise made you jump, every flash from a camera frightened you. You wanted to go home.

The only thing keeping you from bolting was Dean standing right behind you, so close you could feel him breathing, could smell the aftershave he used. Any minute now, they’d call your name and you’d have to go out on that stage alone, without Dean. More than anything, that was not what you wanted. Abruptly, you turned around, pushing Dean backwards, your hands on his chest, pushing him until you were in a dark corner, partially obscured by the stage curtain.

“I can’t do this, Dean,” you mumbled. “I can’t go out there and act normal, act like some crazy person isn’t out to get me.” You could feel the panic rising, your heart pounding, feel the blood racing through your veins. You were going to lose it. Your hands fisted in his jacket, trying to ground yourself, anything not to lose your mind.

Dean grabbed your hands and held them at your side, leaning over you, those dark emerald eyes boring into yours. “You can do this Y/N. I swear to you. I will be right there,” he released your hands and pointed to a spot right near the curtain, “ and I will not go anywhere. If you get nervous, just look over at me. Just breath, okay?”

You dragged in deep breath after deep breath, staring into your eyes, letting his proximity to you calm you. By the time they called your co-star’s name, you thought you might be okay.

“You good?” Dean asked.

You nodded. God, you wanted to kiss him, wanted to push yourself up on your toes, wrap your hands around his neck, and kiss him, but something had shifted since this morning, something had changed. You could feel it every time you were near each other. So, instead of kissing him like you wanted, you gave him a tight smile. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words dripping with everything you really wanted to say.

You heard your name echoing through the auditorium, your signal to join the other actors onstage. You turned and hurried away.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Y/N was off the stage and standing beside me, the two of us surrounded by my team, Georgia, and Charlie. I doled out instructions, watching as they scattered to do as they were told. Georgia wandered off to deal with a few reporters, while Charlie went with Garth to get the car, leaving Y/N and I alone.

“I’m glad that’s over,” she breathed. 

“You did great,” I said. I was a foot or so away from her, arms crossed over my chest, my eyes focused on a movie poster on the wall over her shoulder.

“Are we okay?” she whispered, sidling closer to me. “Or did all that chatter in your head get to you?”

“Y/N, I -” I swallowed nervously, shifting to my back foot, trying to put some distance back between us.

“Don’t push me away, Dean,” she begged, her eyes pleading with me. “Please, please don’t push me away.”

I shook my head, unable to speak. I wasn’t even sure what I would say. I wasn’t making sense in my own head, how would I make sense if I let the words come out of my mouth?

“Please, Dean,” she whispered, stepping closer to me and pushing herself up on her toes. She put her hand on the back of my neck, pressed her soft lips against my mine. I sighed, let my hand fall to her waist, tugging her closer, the kiss deepening.

“Well, shit,” someone bellowed from off to my left, “I wish my clients were that thankful.”

I released Y/N with a sigh, turning to see Brady a few feet away, smiling like the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary, making his way towards us. 

“Shit,” I muttered.

Y/N slipped behind me, her hand on my arm, her eyes squinted half-closed as she watched Brady approach. “Who’s that?” she whispered.

“Guy I used to work with,” I explained. 

“He gives me the creeps,” she muttered just as Brady came to a stop in front of us.

“Brady? You’re working this gig, too?” I said, shaking his hand, keeping myself between him and Y/N. I could feel her fear rolling off of her waves.

“Yeah,” he responded, waving vaguely toward the crowd on the other side of the stage. “Ms. Y/L/N, it’s nice to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.” He smiled, that all too familiar, leering grin of his that spoke volumes about his intentions.

Y/N didn’t say anything, merely nodded in Brady’s direction. A look of irritation crossed his face at the obvious slight, his lips pursed, one eyebrow raised. His eyes turned to me, flashing with something I didn’t like.

“I guess I can see why you’d want to fuck her, Dean,” he said, his voice so low only Y/N and I could hear it. “Because that’s what you two are doing, right? Fucking?”

“Brady -” The threat in my voice was evident, and Brady had known me long enough to recognize it. But it didn’t seem to matter; he was going to say his piece.

“It’s funny how she looks  _ just like _ Melissa, isn’t it?” Brady smiled, his eyes on Y/N. “It’s downright uncanny.” His smile widened. “Have a nice day.” He spun on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.   



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth takes a toll on the reader and Dean, forcing both of them to look deep inside themselves and make some tough decisions.

You sat in the backseat of the SUV, leaning against the door, staring out the window, gnawing on your lower lip. The headache was back, not that it was ever really gone; it seemed to be a constant presence the last few weeks, one you could never seem to get past. But it wasn’t the headache that had you holding back tears.

_“It’s funny how she looks just like Melissa, isn’t it? It’s downright uncanny.”_

Melissa. Dean’s dead wife. According to Brady, you were a dead ringer for her. The thought had your stomach twisted in knots and your heart trying to wrench itself from your chest, pain like you’d never known burning deep into the core of your being, tearing you to shreds. It felt like the giant SUV was shrinking, closing in around you, cutting off your ability to breathe.

You couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stay locked inside the metal prison, trapped with a man you thought you were falling in love with, a man who most likely was only attracted to you because of your resemblance to a dead woman. You clawed at the door handle, pushing it open and jumping out as soon as Tiny pulled to a stop at one of the lights along the way, sprinting down the street the second your feet hit the ground, ignoring the shouts coming from the people behind you. You had no idea where you were going, no destination in mind, you just needed to get away, as far away from Dean as you could. You ran until your sides were aching and your calves were burning, ran until your lungs felt like they might explode.

When you finally slowed to a stop, you had no idea where you were. It was a residential neighborhood, quiet, modest homes. You wandered through the streets until you found a small park with a smattering of playground equipment and several benches set back from the street under some trees. Exhausted, you dropped onto the nearest one, your head in your hands, the breath tearing in and out of your throat, your blood pounding in your ears.

You’d run. Again. Any time things got crazy or difficult, any time things didn’t go your way, you would run away from your problems. Every gossip website and hate monger on social media liked to remind the world that you were a woman who couldn’t face her problems head on, instead you hid from them, hoping they would go away on their own. And they were right. Famous boyfriend breaks off your sham engagement? Hide in Rome for almost two months. Lost the coveted part in the new Abrams movie? Retreat to the mountains for six weeks and refuse to audition for anyone for another eight. Didn’t win the Oscar? Run home and hide at your parents house for a month. That was what you did. And of course, true to form, you were doing it again. Instead of talking to Dean, getting to the bottom of whatever the hell this was, you had, quite literally, run. Once again, you were proving to the world that they were right about you.

You’d thought there might have been a chance at some real feelings between you and Dean, you’d hoped that maybe that’s where things were headed. You weren’t sure if that was still possible, you weren’t even sure if Dean’s feelings for you were genuine or not. His attraction to you - if it could even be called that - was most likely only because of your resemblance to the woman he still loved. You might never know how he really felt about you. The thought made that ache in your gut harden into a tight knot, a knot that felt like it might be rotting you from the inside out.

You let out an exasperated breath. Maybe it was time for you to grow up, maybe it was time to stop running and face your problems for once. If there was anyone in the world worth changing yourself for, it was Dean. You owed him the chance to explain himself.

You pulled your cell phone from your back pocket and held it in your hands, staring at it for several minutes before pulling up Dean’s name from your contacts. Your finger hovered over the call button for a good thirty seconds before you could bring yourself to push it. He answered almost immediately.

“Y/N, where are you?” He was shouting, his words cold and angry.

You looked around, trying to get your bearings, until you saw a couple of signs on the corner. You mumbled the names of the streets to Dean, heard him telling Tiny where to go.

“Stay there, we’re coming to get you,” he ordered. His voice softened. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m okay.” You cleared your throat. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”

* * *

_There’s a lot we need to talk about._

Her words echoed in my brain. That might have been the understatement of the century. If we put aside the fact that she was my client and I was her bodyguard, and the fact that I was still dealing with the untimely death of my wife, there was still the not-so-little issue of her being a near doppelganger for Melissa. A fun fact that had my head all kinds of screwed up.

I was feeling something for Y/N. But, were the things I was feeling genuine or were they merely because she looked like my dead wife? The night we had shared had been phenomenal, but it had rocked me to my very core, making me question everything. I was attracted to her, but I was overwhelmed with guilt. I’d loved my wife, was I really just going to forget about her that easily, tarnish the memory of her by getting involved with a woman who, oddly enough, looked just like her?

It took less than ten minutes to find Y/N. Tiny parked on the street next to a small park; I could see her sitting on a bench under a tree. I instructed Tiny and Charlie to wait in the car before stepping out and closing the door. Y/N’s eyes met mine as I crossed the green grass to stand in front of her. She rose slowly to her feet, her hands in her back pockets, rocking nervously back and forth on her toes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“Let’s go back to the mansion,” I said, taking her elbow and leading her to the SUV. “We can talk there.” I opened the back door and ushered her inside, next to Charlie.

The silence in the car was thick and awkward. Charlie and Tiny had no idea what had happened, what Brady had said, all they knew was that Y/N had jumped out of the car and run. I heard Charlie whispering to her, asking her what had happened, and her brushing it off, muttering something about everything just getting to be too much. Tiny kept sneaking glances at me out of the corner of his eye, but I steadfastly ignored him. I didn’t say a word until we pulled into the garage and Tiny cut the engine.

“You remember Tyson Brady?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Used to work for Bobby.”

“Right,” I said, opening Y/N’s door and gesturing for her to step out. “Do me a favor and find out who he’s working for now. Find out if he’s independent or working with a company, but most importantly, find out if he’s on the job right now and who it’s with.”

I didn’t wait for an answer because I was focused on Y/N and her unsteady gait, her hand pressed to the center of her forehead, and her bloodshot eyes. I followed her into the house and when she stumbled halfway up the stairs, I took her arm and led her to her room.

Once we were inside, she yanked her arm free, kicked off her shoes, and climbed into the bed. She laid on her side, her pillow tucked under her head, her arms wrapped around it, eyes on me.

“Do I really look like her?” she said. “Like Melissa?”

I sat on the edge of the bed, near her feet, my hands folded between my knees. “Yeah,” I sighed. “Yeah, you do. People always said it, but she brushed it off, and me being me, I had no idea who they were talking about. I didn’t realize just how much the two of you looked alike until that first day when you opened your door.”

“Is that why you kissed me? Because I remind you of her?”

There it was, the question I’d been dreading. I just hoped that the truth was enough.

“No, Y/N, that is not why I kissed you -”

“Really, Dean?” I wasn’t sure she could have been more skeptical. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“You can believe me or not,” I snapped, “but I’m telling you the truth. I did not kiss you because you look like Melissa. The similarities between you and Melissa stop there. You’re confident where she was awkward, shy where she was outgoing, soft where she was hard and vice versa. I kissed you because I’m attracted to you. There’s something about you, you’re all up in my head and I can’t stop thinking about you. You, Y/N. It has nothing to do with how you look or who you look like. It’s you. But I’m not going to lie, either. The fact that you look like her is making this crazy hard. And you know what else? I am terrified. Terrified I won’t be able to protect you, to keep you safe from whatever predator has set their sights on you. Just like I couldn't protect my wife. I am poison. My wife’s death is proof of that.”

“How can you say that?” she whispered. “You are not responsible for Melissa’s death.”

“I keep telling myself that, shit, everyone keeps telling me that, but my head refuses to believe it.” I pushed myself to my feet, unable to sit still anymore. “I’m not even sure I can protect you anymore, that I can keep you safe. I keep wondering if I should call Bobby, tell him to bring Sam down from the job in Vancouver, have him take over for me.”

“That’s not what I want,” Y/N said. “I don’t want anyone else protecting me. I trust you. I want you.”

I shook my head, deflecting her assurances. “I can’t help but think you’d be better off with someone else, someone who can keep you alive. I’m not sure that’s me.”

She was across the room and in front of me in a heartbeat, her hands on my waist. “Please don’t leave me,” she begged. “Please.” She rested her head against my chest. “I want to believe that this could go somewhere, could mean something. I want to believe that the attraction you feel for me is for _me_ , not because I’m a carbon copy of someone you once loved.”

I wrapped my arms around her, my chin resting on the top of her head. “Let’s just take it a day at a time, figure it out as we go, okay?”

“You won’t leave me?” she asked. “You won’t bring somebody else in to be my bodyguard, will you? Promise me you won’t.”

“Alright, I promise,” I sighed. I still wasn’t sure I was the best choice, the best option to protect her, but if she wanted me to stay, then I would.

She took a step back, her fingers intertwined with mine, tugging. I smiled and followed her to the bed, sitting on the edge while she wedged herself between my legs, her hand on the back of my neck, her lips seeking out and finding mine. She hummed quietly in the back of her throat as the kiss deepened, leaning into me. I closed my eyes, my hands running over every one of her curves.

Y/N suddenly went stiff in my arms, her hands on her head, a cry of pain coming from her. She dropped to her knees at the side of the bed, and before I could grab her, she toppled over, crying out louder this time.

“Dean,” she gasped. “Something’s wrong.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You end up in the hospital; Dean and Sam have a suspect; things between you and Dean heat up.

 

I truly believe that a lot of the time, doctors don't know shit. They use a bunch of big, fancy words to explain what was happening, all meant to keep you from realizing that they had no idea what they were talking about. I was definitely feeling like that now.

Y/N had been in the emergency room for almost four hours. She hadn’t wanted to come, but her collapse, in combination with the headaches, had me worried that the injury to her head earlier in the week had done more damage than the doctors first thought. When we arrived, the doctors and nurses had focused on the the head injury as the cause of her head pain. It took them two hours to eliminate it. After that, all they could do was draw some blood and run some other tests, leaving us to wait for answers. 

Y/N had refused to let anyone besides me in the room with her, turning away both Georgia and Charlie, then ripping her nurse Tessa a new one for suggesting I wait in the lobby. I was leaning against the wall next to her bed, watching the monitors, feeling helpless. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to fix this, to do something to help her.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she murmured, half asleep from the pain meds they’d given her. “You’re making me nervous.”

I perched on the edge of the chair beside her bed and took her hand. “You’re barely awake,” I chuckled.

“Awake enough to know that you’re driving yourself crazy,” she sighed. “Let the doctors figure it out.”

“I hate doctors,” I muttered, squeezing her hand.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” A short, bespectacled man in a white coat entered the room, pushing the door closed behind him. “I’m Dr. Gabriel Godson. Are you feeling any better?”

“A little,” she shrugged. “Drugs helped the pain. I still feel like my skin is on fire, though.”

“I think we may have figured out why,” Dr. Godson said. He held his hand out to me. “And you are?”

“A close friend,” Y/N said at the same time that I responded “Her bodyguard.” Thankfully, the doctor took it in stride, shaking my hand before flipping through the chart in his hand.

“Your bloodwork came back,” he explained. “You told Tessa you’ve been having these headaches for weeks?”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, I think four, maybe five weeks.”

“Your blood is showing very high levels of something called an organophosphate. In laymen’s terms, it’s an insecticide.”

“Wait? A bug killer?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Dr. Godson replied. “I had someone in last week who had been exposed at the plant he worked at, an acute exposure. Yours, Ms. Y/L/N, appears to be a slower, chronic exposure. I suspect you’ve been ingesting it.”

“What?” I shot to my feet, my hands fisted at my side.

Dr. Godson was nodding, turning the chart to show me the page. “I think someone has been poisoning her, slowly over the last month or so. Most likely water, drinks, it could even be sprayed over any medication she takes on a regular basis.”

“What does this mean?” Y/N asked.

“That head injury may have saved your life,” Dr. Godson said. “The headaches you’ve been experiencing are caused by the insecticide. It most likely would have gone undetected if you hadn’t hit your head. As it is, we may have caught it early enough to treat it. We’re going to give you a dose of atropine and pralidoxime. You should be able to go home in a couple of hours.” He tucked the chart beneath his arm and pulled a couple of Tootsie Pops from his pocket. “Lollipop?” 

* * *

Dr. Godson hadn’t been lying; you were home and in your own bed by midnight, curled up beside Dean, his hand in your hair, smoothing it away from your face as he worked his way through the file on his lap. You were exhausted and nauseous, thanks to the medication they’d pumped into you.

You’d come home to people scouring your house, going through your refrigerator, your cabinets, clearing it all out. Dean had called Bobby, and Bobby had sent in a team to collect and test everything imaginable. You were only allowed bottled water checked by Dean or his team, coffee from Starbucks bought by Dean or his team, take out brought in by Dean or his team. If Dean or his team didn’t bring it to you, you weren’t allowed to have it.

You’d gone from one bodyguard and a driver, to a group of bodyguards - Ash, Garth, Jo - and of course, Dean and Tiny. Sam was on his way down from Vancouver, Bobby had swapped him out with another guy after Dean’s request. He would be at the mansion in the morning. 

The movie premiere was in three days. That gave you time to get back on your feet, which Dr. Godson had seemed confident would happen. You’d promised him you would take it easy, relax, and you intended to keep that promise, aside from a quick appearance at the ribbon cutting ceremony for the women’s center. Dean had protested, but you’d put your foot down, insisting you were going. You’d promised you would be in and out, make a quick appearance, cut the ribbon, say a few words, and get out. He’d finally agreed, but you’d had to agree to the entire team tagging along.

You were nearly asleep when the light went out and Dean laid down next to you, pulling you into his arms, his lips pressed to your temple.

“Don’t you get tired of sleeping in your clothes?” you murmured.

Dean chuckled, drawing you closer. You sighed, your cheek on his chest, your arms sliding around his waist. You could stay there forever, the rhythmic beat of his heart providing a deeper comfort you hadn’t known existed, a comfort you hadn’t known you needed until he came into your life.

“You’re going to figure out who’s doing this, right?” you asked. “Who tried to kill me?”

“If it’s the last thing I do,” he promised.

* * *

“Y/N, this is my little brother, Sam,” I said. “Sammy, this Y/N.”

“It’s Sam,” my younger brother smiled, taking Y/N’s hand and shaking it. “Only he gets to call me Sammy.”

Y/N giggled and shook his hand. “Wow, two attractive brothers in one family. Great genes.”

Sam’s grin widened. “How’re you feeling?” he asked.

“Good,” she shrugged. “I could use some coffee, maybe some food.”

“Well, I’m here to save the day, as usual,” Sam chuckled, pointing at the table behind him where he’d put the box of donuts and coffee from Starbucks I’d had him pick up.

Y/N sighed happily. “My new favorite Winchester,” she joked.

“Hey!” I protested. 

Y/N laughed again, a sound I was more than happy to hear. She’d been very quiet since returning from the hospital, understandably so, but this morning she’d been smiling and more relaxed. We were due at the women’s center in just a couple of hours, something I knew she was looking forward to. She kept saying it was time to show the world she wasn’t the spoiled brat they’d made her out to be.

I’d sent the team on ahead - Ash, Garth, Jo, and Tiny - to check out the women’s center, make sure that it was secure. Sam and I were going to take Y/N over later, once I was confident that everything was safe.

Sam had settled himself in the security office, every monitor going, his laptop open in front of him. If there was anything my brother was good at, it was research. He was combing through everything that had happened and creating profiles on everyone in Y/N’s life, looking for a connection. 

“How’s it going?” I asked, sitting down next to him.

“Slow,” he muttered. “I’m playing catch up.” He spun in his chair, twisting it side to side, picking at invisible lint on his pant leg.

“Spit it out, Sam.” I knew he had something to say, I could tell by the look on his face. I took a sip from the coffee in my hand, waiting.

“You and Y/N?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Does she know that she’s the spitting image of Melissa?” He looked at his shoes, still spinning in his chair.

“Thanks to that asshole, Brady, yeah, she does,” I replied.

“Brady? When the hell did he turn up?” Sam seemed surprised to hear about his former friend.

“Last few days,” I shrugged.

“He hates us,” Sam said, “but you more than any of us. How’d that go?”

“Okay, the first time,” I answered. “He was his usual douchebag self, but the second time, yeah. Full on asshole. Crass, humorless, typical Brady shit.” I cleared my throat. “But, it opened a door between Y/N and I, forcing us to talk about it - the resemblance between Melissa and Y/N. It was rocky at first, but, we’re working through it. Taking it a day at a time. We’ll see how it goes.”

Sam was nodding as I spoke, a satisfied smile on his face. “Good, I mean, that’s good. Now, if we can just -”

“Dean?” The voice floated in from the hall.

“That’s Y/N,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “It must be time to go.”

The women’s center was twenty minutes away; I drove, while Sam sat in the passenger seat, asking me questions, getting himself up to speed on what had happened since I’d taken the job with Y/N. We decided Brady’s sudden reappearance in our lives, showing up at the same venues as Y/N, was too big of a coincidence, one that Sam was intent on checking thoroughly. He also wanted a thorough background check on everyone in Y/N’s life, something I’d asked for but still hadn’t gotten. Sam intended to take care of it himself.

I helped Y/N from the car while Sam radioed the team for a security update. Once he had the all clear, we headed inside, Sam leading the way while I walked with Y/N, Charlie trailing behind.

“I like your brother,” Y/N murmured, her hand slipping into mine. 

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” I smiled. “I’m glad he’s here.” I held the door for her, pointed her toward the team standing at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby. “You nervous?”

“A little,” she shrugged. “This is important to me, you know? I don’t want anything to screw it up, draw attention away from what’s important.”

I knew this was a project she’d been working on for months, spending thousands of dollars on renovating this old building into a center for women who needed health care, help finding work, even childcare. It was important to her. 

“Y/N?” Georgia waved to us and hurried over. She gave Y/N the onceover, scrutinizing her carefully. “Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you. Your bodyguard,” she shot a dirty look my direction, “wouldn’t let me near you. Said you needed your rest.”

“I’m fine, Georgie,” Y/N smiled. “Dean was just being cautious.”

“I understand that, but I don’t like it,” Georgia sighed. “I’m your friend. I worry. And speaking of your bodyguard, the press is having a field day speculating about a relationship between you two.” She eyed both of us carefully, Y/N’s hand in mine. “You might want to cool it when you're in public. It's bad press.”

“Nothing I haven't been through before,” Y/N sighed. “But we’ll be more cautious.”

Georgia held out a cup. “Here, coffee, just the way you like it.”

I plucked the cup from her hand. “Sorry,” I said. “Nothing unless it’s from my team.”

Georgia rolled her eyes, opened her mouth to protest, but Y/N cut her off with a look. Her mouth snapped shut, but I didn’t miss the second nasty look she gave me. Two in less than five minutes; I was on a roll.

Charlie took the cup from me. “I’ll drink it,” she smiled. “I could use the caffeine.” She popped off the lid and took a long drink from the cup, sighing happily. 

We were interrupted by the director of the center, swooping in to pull Y/N away, get her ready for the ribbon cutting. The team and I split up; I stayed close to Y/N, while everyone went to their assigned positions. 

It was over fairly quick, no more than half an hour, plus an hour or so for questions from the press. Y/N did great, turning all the questions about herself back to the women’s center, putting the focus where she felt it belonged. Jo and Tiny removed a couple of fans they didn’t like the looks of, but other than that, things went off without a hitch. Y/N seemed pleased by the time I ushered her into the car.

“God, I am so glad that went smoothly,” Y/N sighed. She smiled at me in the rearview mirror. “Thanks to you guys.”

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” I winked. I chanced a glance over at Charlie, noticing immediately that her normally bright, friendly face was pinched and pale. “Charlie? You okay?”

“I’m not feeling very good,” she replied. “Stomach hurts. It’s probably nothing.”

Sam and I exchanged a look. At this point, I wasn’t about to believe that it was nothing. I nodded at Sam, then made a quick u-turn.

“Dean?” Y/N sat up straight in her seat. “Where are you going?”

“Hospital,” I said. 

* * *

“Georgia?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “You think Georgia did this to Charlie?”

“We think she was trying to do it you, Y/N,” Sam said. “Charlie just got unlucky.”

You rubbed a hand down your face. The day had gone downhill unbelievably fast. Charlie was in the hospital, arsenic poisoning, and now Dean and his brother were telling you that they thought it was Georgia. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “I’ve known Georgia since college.”

“Did you know that her roommate sophomore year died, poisoned, and the police questioned her about it?” Sam asked. “Or that in high school, she was accused of stalking a girl, messing with her, almost kept her from graduating, all because of some boy?”

You shook your head. Everything that the Winchesters were telling you was a surprise, things you didn’t know about a woman you thought you knew everything about. But, you just couldn’t let go of the need to defend your friend.

“Talk to Georgia,” you said. “I’m sure she’ll be able to explain everything.”

“We can’t find her, Y/N,” Dean spoke up. “No one has seen her since before the ribbon cutting ceremony. She’s gone.”

“What?”

“She’s gone,” Dean repeated. “Tiny went back and found the cup of coffee Charlie had this morning. It’s with the police now, the cup of coffee that Georgia tried to give to you.”

“I don’t believe it,” you shook your head. “I can’t.”

“Have you and Georgia had any problems before, anything that might cause her to be upset with you?” Sam inquired.

“I don’t know, I guess,” you shrugged. “There’s always something between friends, right? I mean, five, maybe six years ago, a year out of college, we were both up for a part in this indie film. I got it, she didn’t. I know she was upset at the time, but she said that it was ultimately what convinced her to go into management. How she became my manager, actually. That film launched my career. Georgia always joked that if she’d gotten the part instead of me, our roles would be reversed.”

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, a look I didn’t like. I’d heard the words as they came out of my mouth, heard what I’d said, understood how it could sound like Georgia was responsible for all of this.

“But she’s my friend,” you said weakly. You weren’t even sure you could convince yourself of that anymore.

“See, the thing is, this has to be someone close to you,” Dean murmured. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and held it out to you.

You took it, unfolding it gingerly, almost like it might bite you. It was a list of everything that had been contaminated by insecticide; water, food, even the Excedrin you took to help with the headaches. You shook your head and tossed the paper to the table.

Dean sat on the couch beside you, his arm around your waist. You laid your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. This was insane. A woman you’d thought was your friend was trying to kill you. Had been for weeks. You were living in a nightmare.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Dean said. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m not tired,” you grumbled.

“Humor me,” Dean smiled. “You need some rest.”

You followed him up the stairs and into your room. The door had barely closed before you were in his arms and he was hugging you to his chest. He softly kissed your forehead and pointed at the bed. 

“Seriously, get some rest,” he said. “You promised me you would take it easy after the ribbon cutting.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I found out that someone I thought was my friend might be trying to kill me,” you sighed, though you did kick off your shoes and pull off the sweater you were wearing. You threw yourself backwards on the bed, your arm over your eyes. “I feel like I’m living in one of my movies.”

Dean sat on the edge of the bed beside you, his hand on your knee. Somehow, his presence always had a calming effect on you. Your eyes drifted over the width of his shoulders, the way his suit jacket stretched across them, the muscles in his back, how his biceps seemed about to burst from the sleeves. You found yourself wanting to touch them, touch him, run your hands over them, feel the strength, the power. Before you realized what you were doing, you were pushing yourself to your knees, and straddling him, your hands curling around the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours.

The kiss started slow, though your need for Dean, and his for you, was a barely restrained passion just simmering beneath the surface. You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, your hands running over the arms and shoulders you’d been longing to touch. His hands were on your waist, under the edge of your t-shirt, hot on your bare skin.

“Dean,” you gasped, fingers twisting in his navy blue tie, your knees pressing into the mattress, pushing yourself closer to him.

He pulled your shirt over your head, dropping it to the floor, his lips on your neck, kissing the line of your throat, across your shoulders, back to your neck, along the bottom of your jaw to your mouth, nipping at your lower lip until you opened your mouth to him. His hands slid up your back, beneath the straps of your bra, pulling them down your shoulders, freeing your breasts. He cupped them in his hands, his fingers circling the nipples, bringing them to attention. He lifted you, rolling you to your back, leaning over you, one knee between your legs, pressing into you, heat flooding you. He dropped his head, pulling your breast into his mouth, his tongue gently swirling the nipple, teasing you until your back was arched, one hand fisted in the down comforter beneath you, the other holding Dean’s head to your breast.

Your remaining clothes were removed slowly, as were Dean’s, the two of you taking your time, exploring each other. You wanted to memorize every inch of him, every scar, every mark, every freckle, learn everything about him. He seemed to want to do the same, taking time to kiss every inch of skin as it was exposed, figuring out what made you tick, what made you beg for more, what made you cry out his name in ecstasy.

You were burning with need once Dean finally eased into you, agonizingly slow, taking his time, allowing you to adjust to his size, his mouth on yours, your moans lost in the heat between you. He pulled your leg around his waist, his hand on your thigh, the fingers of his other hand tangled in your hair, his thick cock dragging against your sweet spot with every thrust. You moved with him, your nails digging into his ass, pulling him into you, wanting to feel every inch, wanting him deeper, wanting him to take you harder, faster.

His control snapped and then he was pounding into you, pushing you closer to orgasm with every movement. Both of your legs were now around his waist, your hips rising to meet his, pulling him deeper into you. You could feel it, pushing at the edges of your control, rising inside you until you couldn’t hold back any longer and you let go, coming with a loud cry of Dean’s name.

Dean’s movements slowed, deep, hard thrusts that kept you tingling, orgasmic aftershocks rolling through you, cumulating in a deep, possessive, “you belong to me” kiss as Dean came, moaning into your mouth.

“Fuck, that was incredible,” Dean groaned, rolling to his back.

You rolled with him, resting your arms on his chest, your chin on your forearms, a ridiculous smile on your face. You were sure it looked like you were grinning like an idiot.

“You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” he chuckled, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

“I feel like the luckiest woman alive,” you murmured. “I’m alive and I’ve got you.”

“Not sure I’m such a great prize,” he grinned. “But, yeah, you’ve got me. Caught me, hook, line, and sinker.”

You snuggled closer, laid your cheek on his chest, and closed your eyes. Dean made you feel safe, protected. You knew as long as he was around, there wasn’t anyone or anything that could hurt you.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the movie premiere has arrived and Georgia is still nowhere to be found.

 

The morning of the premiere was cloudy and dreary, odd weather for Los Angeles in June. You were trying to decide if you needed to rethink your wardrobe choice for the evening, staring at the line of gowns hanging in the hotel room, while sipping the coffee Dean had brought you.

Georgia was still missing, which you were almost grateful for, especially since the more Sam and Dean dug up on her, the scarier things got. She was truly out of her mind. Ash and Jo had broken into - oops, sorry, paid an informal visit to - her apartment. They’d found several pre-paid, burner cell phones, some of them still in their packaging; open bottles of insecticide and rat poison stored in a hall closet; and at least two notes written in a similar vein as the ones that had been sent to you. A more thorough check into her background had uncovered not only the fact that she’d been questioned by the police in her roommate’s death in college, but that she had, in fact, been the main suspect. Sam had uncovered two separate restraining orders, one from an actress that Georgia had sworn “begged me to be her manager,” and another from an ex-boyfriend, a man Georgia claimed to have broken up with, though his story varied greatly from hers. You were beginning to believe that your entire history with your friend was nothing but a lie. She’d just been biding her time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to destroy you. If the movie studio hadn’t insisted on security, she might have succeeded.

“Y/N,” Dean stuck his head in the door. You didn’t like that he was outside, but, at the studio’s request, you were trying to keep the relationship low key - meaning, out of the press - and having him hanging out in the hotel room the studio had put you up in for the day was not going to accomplish that. So, he was out in the hallway like a dutiful bodyguard. No one was getting past him, that was for sure.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“Got a minute?” he asked.

“Of course,” you replied.

Dean checked the hallway, then he stepped into the room and pushed the door closed. He crossed the huge room in three long strides, pulled you into his arms, and kissed you, taking your breath away.

“What was that for?” you gasped when he finally released you.

“I don’t like you in here alone,” he shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “It’s only until we get through this stuff with the movie premiere and then I don’t care who the hell knows. Shit, I’ll shout it from the nearest rooftop.” You rose up on your toes and kissed him again. “How’s things going?” you asked. “Any word on Georgia?”

“None. Bobby had Ash run facial recognition at the airports and bus stations, trying to see if she left town, but so far, nothing. Garth’s headed to the police station; we’ve got enough evidence at this point to prove she was the one trying to kill you. We’ll find her.”

Dean pulled his ringing phone from his pocket, his arm still around your waist. You rested your head against his chest, your arms around his waist, and let your breathing sync with his. He was quickly turning into your everything. You hadn’t expected to stumble into something so amazing the day you’d opened your door to find him standing there.

You only half listened to him as he talked, his voice a low rumble in your ear, content to be in his arms, even if it was only for a few minutes.

“I gotta go,” he said abruptly, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Jo’s downstairs. I’m going to send her in to wait with you.”

“Where are you going?”

“Ash found something, Sam said I need to see it.” he replied. “I’ll be back before you have to be on the red carpet. I promise.” He kissed your cheek, then he disappeared out the door.

“Well, shit,” you muttered.

* * *

“What am I looking at here, Sammy?” I asked.

Sam pointed at the monitor, his finger tapping the lower left corner of the screen, earning him a dirty look from Ash. “Watch right here,” he said.

I crossed my arms over my chest, watching. I expected to see Georgia come across the bottom of the screen, entering the building across the street from the hotel, like we’d expected. She would have had to haul ass to get into position, but I was convinced she could have done it if she really wanted to. Once we were finally able to get a hold of the footage from the day of the shooting, I instructed Ash to go over it with a fine tooth comb. This was that footage.

“I’m not seeing anything -”

“Just wait,” Sam interrupted me. 

Irritated, I settled back to watch. I wanted to be anywhere but here, waiting to see a woman cross the corner of the screen, a woman I knew was going to be there. I was about to walk away, tell them to call me when there was something worth seeing, when I saw him.

Brady.

“What the fuck?” I muttered, leaning forward and squinting at the screen as I watched him walk into the building that was located across the street from the Beverly Hills hotel where Y/N had been attending the press junket, where someone had taken a shot at her. He had a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder, large enough to hold a rifle and a scope. Ash paused the video feed just as the glass door swung closed behind him.

“There’s no sign of Georgia,” Ash said. “There’s no way that she got downstairs, across the street, then upstairs, and set up to take a shot at Y/N. It wasn’t her, Dean. It would have been literally impossible.”

“Bullshit,” I shook my head, refusing to believe it. “We’ve got all that stuff in her apartment, the text message from the burner phone.”

“We’re not saying that it wasn’t Georgia who was poisoning Y/N,” Sam explained. “Or that it wasn’t her making the death threats, but, she didn’t shoot at her. More than likely, she took advantage of the shooting, saw it as an opportunity to threaten Y/N. We think it was Brady who did the shooting.”

“So what, Brady is Y/N’s stalker? Georgia had nothing to do with it, everything we’d believed was inaccurate?” I was ready to snap. None of this was making sense. “Why the hell would Brady take a shot at Y/N?”

“Who knows?” Sam shrugged. “Maybe Georgia hired him to help her, maybe she has two psychos vying for her attention, but it doesn’t look like Georgia shot at Y/N. Brady did. And Dean, there’s something else. Tiny and I checked into him like you asked and he’s not working for anyone. Anywhere. There is no reason why he should have been at either of those functions you saw him at, unless he was there for Y/N.”

“I need to get back to the hotel. Now.”

“Jo is there,” Sam stated.

“That’s not good enough,” I snapped. “I’m the one that’s supposed to be protecting her.” 

“Alright,” Sam said. “I’ll go with you. Ash, you keep digging. Find out what Brady has been up to since Bobby fired him. I want to know what he had for breakfast the day after he left.” He tucked his gun in the holster under his arm. “Let’s go.”

* * *

You spun slowly in front of the mirror, examining every inch, looking for the inevitable flaw that the camera would bring out.  The dress you’d chosen hugged your curves perfectly, and it wasn’t too short or too long, perfect with the heels you’d chosen. The gold felt decadent and rich. Your hair was in a low bun, a few tendrils loose around your face, your makeup simple - winged eyeliner, some mascara, and a touch of clear gloss on your lips - as was the jewelry, just a pearl ring and earrings to match.

The knock on the door was sharp, loud, making you jump. The stylist laughed, mumbled something about jumpy divas, and yanked open the door. Jo peered inside, an angry scowl on her face. You were beginning to wonder if she was incapable of smiling. 

“You ready?” she asked.

“Is Dean back yet?” you said. He’d promised to be back before you left for the red carpet.

“No, he’s meeting us at the venue.” She opened the door all the way, glaring as the stylist pushed past her and out into the hall. They’d gotten off to a rough start; the stylist hadn’t appreciated Jo searching her things, searching her. And Jo hadn’t taken kindly to having to wait in the hall while you’d had your hair and makeup done.

You followed Jo down the hall, rapidly growing frustrated with her grunted answers as to where Dean was and what was taking him so long. You gave up, riding the elevator in silence, staring straight ahead. Tiny and Garth were waiting outside, the car parked just a few steps away. Tiny took your elbow and Garth led the way, opening the car door for you. He followed you into the SUV, while Jo and Tiny took the front seats. 

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, twisting it round and round, gnawing on your lower lip. While Tiny and Jo were intimidating as hell, and Garth was, well Garth, you didn’t feel safe without Dean. Not after everything that had happened. You didn’t even want to get out of the car if he wasn’t there. 

“Y/N? Y/N?” Jo was turned in her seat, trying to get your attention. She was holding her phone out to you. You’d been so lost in your own thoughts that you hadn’t heard her phone ringing or even her calling your name. You took the phone from her and held it to your ear.

“Hello?” you mumbled.

“Hey,” Dean breathed. “I’m sorry I’m not there.”

You turned away from the other people in the car, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way,” he said. “I will be there, I swear. Is there anyway we can postpone this thing, keep you from walking the carpet? At least until I get there?”

“I don’t know, I can try -”

“Try, okay, at least until I get there.” Dean shouted several curse words and you heard horns honking, squealing tires, engines revving. “I gotta go, Y/N, but I’m coming, I swear I’m coming.” The call disconnected.

The SUV slowed to a near stop and Tiny rolled his window down. He conversed with the man standing outside, then began to inch slowly forward, falling into line behind about five similar vehicles. You stared out the window as the car inched forward, racking your brain, trying to figure out how you could avoid getting out of the car. You couldn’t think of a damn thing.

“Tiny?” you muttered as you watched the car in front of you empty, your co-star and love interest stepping out into a crowd of people, cameras flashing.

“I know,” he growled, his eyes sweeping the crowd. “We’ll stall, if we have to.” 

The car slowed to a stop and Jo jumped out, slamming the door behind her. You watched as she pulled Peggy, the studio public relations head, aside, gesturing and speaking excitedly. You could only imagine what she was saying, what kind of diva she was making you out to be. For once you were relieved that it would be believed.

Tiny checked his phone. “Dean’s ETA is less than five minutes,” he said.

Peggy was shaking her head, pushing past Jo. She grabbed the door handle and yanked it open.

“Y/N,” she smiled, her teeth grinding together. “We don’t have time for this. We’re on a schedule. Let’s go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Tiny. He nodded and held up two fingers. Two minutes. You could handle two minutes. You squared your shoulders and slid out of the car.

“Sorry, Peggy, momentary panic attack,” you said.

She smiled, but you knew she was annoyed. You followed her through the crowd to the end of the red carpet. She introduced you to Holly, instructing you that she would guide you through the press, keep the line moving. 

“All you have to do is answer questions and look beautiful,” Peggy said. “Holly will do the rest.”

Holly stepped to the side, gesturing for you to go ahead of her. One look over your shoulder told you that Tiny and Jo were both there, following as close as they could. No Dean yet.

You forced a smile on your face and stepped into the spotlight.

* * *

“Coms?”

Sam pulled them from the glovebox, waiting until I’d put the car in park before tossing a box to me. I snapped it open and shoved it into my ear, cringing as Tiny and Jo screaming exploded in my head.

“What the fuck?” I shoved open the door and hit the ground running, weaving through the masses of people surrounding the venue. The only words I could make out were Georgia and knife, but that was all I needed to hear. “Find out what the hell is going on!” I yelled at Sam before I took off at top speed.

When I rounded the corner, I could see that people were grouped into a rough semicircle, their attention focused on something in the center. I scanned the crowd, trying to find Tiny, Y/N, anyone. I was still trying to sort out what was happening, the chatter filling my head not making any sense. I edged forward, hand in my jacket, resting on the butt of my gun. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice broke through the noise, taking charge. “It’s Georgia. Ash said it looks like her pass was never revoked by the studio, that her privileges to be on the carpet were kept intact.”

“She came out of nowhere, Dean,” Tiny interjected, his voice exploding in your ear. “One second nothing, the next second she was on Y/N, knife on her throat, screaming. We were watching the crowd, expecting trouble to come from there, not from behind her. We can’t get a shot off, she’s using Y/N as a shield.”

If we got Y/N out of this alive, I was going to kill whoever dropped the ball. I pushed through the crowd, roughly shoving people out of my way until I was standing on the red carpet. Ten feet away from me stood Georgia, her arm around Y/N’s throat, a knife held to her face, just below her eye.

“Georgia!”

She swung my direction, her eyes insanely wide, a sneer marring her once attractive face. She laughed, the sound like a strange chorus of out of tune bells.

“There you are, Dean,” she cackled. “What took you so long?”

“Georgia, why don’t you let her go?” I tried to keep my voice calm, soothing, when what I really wanted to do was shoot her in the head. I put my hands out, letting her see that they were empty, that I wasn’t holding a gun. “Let her go, okay?”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “What would be the point? We all know what my end game is, Dean, don’t we? I’ve always known this wouldn’t end well for me. I’m either dead or going to jail for the rest of my life. I might as well at least go with the satisfaction of knowing that I destroyed Y/N’s life.” The knife in her hand cut into Y/N’s cheekbone, just a nick, but enough that a trickle of blood slid down her face, mingling with her tears.

“You don’t want to kill her, Georgia,” I said, inching a few inches closer.

“You’re right Dean, I don’t,” she shrugged. “What I want to do is make her so ugly that no one will ever want her. Nobody in Hollywood will ever cast her in a part, so she’ll never act again. And you, you’ll sure the hell not want her anymore, not if she doesn’t look like your wife.”

“Georgia, why are you doing th -”

“Jesus Christ, knock it off! Stop saying my name, I know it’s a negotiation technique. You’re stalling and it isn’t going to work.” Another cut, a one inch shallow line under the other, blood rising to the surface. Y/N whimpered, her hands clawing at Georgia’s arm. “I’ve seen all those stupid procedural cop shows, I know how this works.”

“Alright, alright,” I said. “Look, there has to be something, anything, we can do. Right? Everybody wants something.”

“The only thing I want is for Y/N’s life to be as miserable as mine,” Georgia snapped. “After I destroy her looks, maybe she can find some spoiled actress to wait on hand and foot, some actress whose life is meaningless in the grand scheme of things. She can spend her life being ordered around by snotty divas, just like I’ve spent the last six years of my life being ordered around by her. I’m tired of living in the shadows; tired of being ignored, tired of watching her get everything while I get nothing. I couldn’t stand another minute of watching her live the perfect life while I hung around in the background.”

“Georgia, I never meant -” Y/N muttered.

“Shut up!” Georgia screamed, cutting off Y/N by jabbing the knife into her cheek, drawing more blood.

She was unravelling, and fast. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam push to the front of the crowd, maybe twenty feet to my right. If I could distract her, maybe Sam could get to her, get Y/N away from her, and maybe, no one would die today. 

He nodded at me, a subtle tip of his head, acknowledging that he knew what I wanted, what I was thinking. This could work. It had to work. I wasn’t going to lose another woman I loved. I took another step forward, while Sam began slinking slowly to his right, his hand on his gun.

“Let her go, please,” I said quietly. “Let her go and we’ll talk this out. You, me, and Y/N. We’ll figure out how to right whatever wrongs have been done to you.” 

Sam’s gun was in his hand, held against the side of his leg, watching, waiting. I took another step forward. 

“Dean,” Y/N gasped as the knife dug into her jaw.

The gunshots were like two loud claps of thunder, echoing off the buildings that surrounded us. Georgia’s eyes went wide and her mouth opened. She coughed, once, twice, blood spraying from her mouth, hitting Y/N. Her arms fell away from Y/N, the knife falling to the ground. I lunged for Y/N, but the curtain behind her separated and someone stepped out, catching her before she hit the carpet. The same someone who had shot Georgia.

Brady was kneeling beside Y/N with her half in his arms, half sprawled across the carpet, unconscious. He held a gun loosely in his right hand, smoke rising from the tip. A smirk played across his lips.

“Boy, she does look like Melissa, Dean,” Brady said, looking down at Y/N. Her eyes fluttered, a startled gasp coming from her when she realized who was staring down at her. “All she’s missing are a couple of bullet holes in her.” He raised the gun in his hand and held it to her head, drawing a whimper from her. 

“What are you doing?” I growled. 

“Well, I’d like to say I’m protecting her, but that is wildly inaccurate, isn’t it?” Brady laughed. “I certainly don’t have  _ that _  job anymore. Instead, you’re supposed to be the one protecting her.” He shook his head, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. “You’re not doing a very good job, are you?”

“Brady -”

“Let me ask you a question, Dean,” he asked. “Why do you get everything? Pretty wife, great job. A job I had until you fucked it up for me, got me canned. It just didn’t seem fair that you should have it all, the wife, the job, the perfect fucking life. You had everything while I have nothing.”

“I don’t have -”

“Not anymore, right?” Brady cut me off. “No, I took care of that.”

I felt bile rise in the back of my throat. He was lying, he had to be lying. I shook my head, refusing to believe that he could have taken my whole world away from me.

“I mean, I wasn’t  _ trying _  to hit Melissa,” Brady shrugged, dragging Y/N to her feet, his grip on her upper arm bruisingly tight. He pushed her in front of him, standing slightly behind her. “I was aiming for you. You do know that it was your incessant need to protect people that got your wife killed, don’t you? If you hadn’t thrown yourself at Chuck, shoved him behind that table, I would have hit you. You, Dean. Instead, I got Melissa.” 

“You bastard.” I tensed, ready to spring at Brady, ready to tear his fucking guts out, but I froze when he cocked the gun in his hand, digging it into her temple.

“I was pissed, Jesus was I pissed. But, sometimes mistakes work themselves out to be a good thing.” He chuckled. “I guess I didn’t realize how much you loved her, how much losing her would destroy you. And God, did it destroy you. I’ve never seen you like that, so...so wrecked. It was pathetic. But, I thought I’d finally gotten what I wanted. Dean Winchester, sidelined forever. Except you had to come back, didn’t you? You couldn’t just live your life locked in your house, mourning your dead wife. No, you had to come back to work, back to your life, and I just couldn’t have that, couldn’t accept that. I needed you ruined.”

Y/N choked back a sob, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide, frightened, but never leaving mine. Brady dragged the gun down the side of her face, chuckling as she flinched.

“Those shots at the hotel, after the press junket? You know I was the one that fired the gun, don’t you?” Brady asked. “I’m sure Ash found me on the surveillance tapes. He always was good at his job. That didn’t have a damn thing to do with her.” He shook her, hard, her jaw snapping shut so hard I heard her teeth rattle together. “I was trying to hit you. But when I saw you with her, with Y/N, when I saw you kiss her, I knew I had been given another chance to destroy you. I mean, come on? She’s the spitting image of your dead wife! It was almost like I could kill Melissa all over again. Destroy you for good this time. And the best way to do that is to kill her and make you watch.”

“Let her go and I won’t kill you.” The words were like acid dripping from my lips. I was going to tear his fucking throat out. 

“Oh, Dean, please, you won’t save me,” Brady mocked, his voice shrill and annoying, ending in a cold, bitter laugh. 

Sam decided at that moment to make a move, catching Brady’s attention. He swung the gun Sam’s direction, his hand closing around Y/N’s throat, squeezing. “Don’t you fucking dare, Sammy. I have no beef with you.”

“Sam.” I held out my hand, gesturing for my brother to step back, terrified as I watched Y/N gasp for air. Sam took a step back, reluctantly. Brady turned his attention back to me. “How long Brady? How long has this shit been going on? How long have you been trying to destroy my life?”

“Since about five minutes after you fired me. Thought I succeeded, too.” He brought the gun back to Y/N, this time shoving it into her ribs. “You just keep rising from the ashes though. But this time, if I can kill another woman you love, this time I think I can destroy you.” He pressed his lips to Y/N’s temple. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

A bloodcurdling scream broke through the air and Jo came flying out of nowhere, slamming into Brady’s left side, knocking him sideways. Y/N wrenched her arm free, dropping to her knees on the carpet, crawling forward. I rushed forward, flying over Y/N and tackling Brady, the three of us - Jo, Brady, myself - falling in a heap, knocking down the dark black curtains that had been set up on one side of the carpeted walkway. 

I grabbed Brady’s arm, struggling for the gun. Jo was repeatedly slamming her fist into his kidneys, her legs wrapped around his, her angry screams deafening me. The gun flew from Brady’s hand, sliding to a stop near Sam’s feet. Brady kicked his feet, shaking Jo loose long enough for him to punch both feet into her gut, toppling her backwards onto her ass. Brady bounded to his feet, stumbling over the curtains now bunched on the floor, backing away from me. 

“It’s not too late, Brady,” I panted, pushing off the ground. “Don’t make me kill you.”

“You already want to kill me, Dean,” Brady snapped. “Stop acting all innocent and get this over with already.” His hand slipped into his jacket, closing around God knew what. A gun, a knife, it didn’t matter.

My training kicked in before I could even think about it. I grabbed my gun, ripping it from its holster, and pulled the trigger three times, aiming for center mass. Brady stumbled over his own feet, but he didn’t go down. Grinding my teeth, I locked my sites on his forehead, and sent two bullets through his head. The silence that followed was deafening.

* * *

The paramedic, Bill, according to the name on his uniform, finished cleaning the cuts on your face, none of them deep enough to require stitches, then he placed several small butterfly bandages over each one. He injected the painkiller directly into the IV he’d insisted on giving you, forcing fluids into you. 

“You good?” he asked as he peeled off the latex gloves and tossed them into a small blue bag behind him.

You nodded and squeezed Dean’s hand. He’d found you as soon as he’d finished giving his statement to the police; something that had taken too long, as far as you were concerned. He’d climbed into the ambulance beside you, his hand in the small of your back, his leg pressed against yours as he waited patiently for your wounds to be tended to.

“I don’t have to go to the hospital, right?” you asked. “I’m sick of hospitals.”

Bill shook his head. “I think you can go home,” he said. “Nothing life threatening.”

You laughed, amused by the irony of his statement. You’d just had two different people try to kill you, but yeah, nothing life threatening. 

He must have realized what he said, because he shook his head and chuckled, mumbling “sorry” as he climbed from the back of the ambulance. “Do me a favor though, will you? See a doctor in the next few days?”

“I will, I promise,” you said.

“She will,” Dean added. “You can count on it.”

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Bill said as pushed the door closed, leaving it open just a crack.

Relieved that you were finally alone with Dean, you turned and fell into his arms, more tears streaking your cheeks as you sobbed against his chest. Every pent up emotion you’d been holding in burst free, culminating in this desperate crazy release of tears.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.” he murmured, his strong arms around you, pulling you into his lap, mindful of the IV attached to your inner elbow. “It’s over, sweetheart, it’s all over.” He ran his hands over your body, and you knew he was examining you for injuries, despite the fact that you were sitting in an ambulance and had just been examined by a professional. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” you said. “Bill the paramedic said I’m fine.”

He smoothed your hair away from your face and gently kissed you. “Just checking,” he sighed. “Making sure for myself.”

“This has been the craziest two weeks of my life,” you sighed, burying your face against his neck. “Take me home, make me forget all of this.”

“Hm, I don’t know, Ms. Y/L/N, I might be off duty,” Dean chuckled.

You punched him lightly on the arm. “You’re not funny,” you groused. 

“You love it,” he grinned.

“Yeah, I do,” you said, catching his lips in yours. “Maybe you, too.”

“Oh yeah?” he breathed. “You love me, huh? You better be careful or someone from the press will hear you.”

“I don't care who hears me,” you mumbled, swiping at the tears on your cheeks. “I’ll shout it from the damn rooftops. I'm in love with my bodyguard.” You pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “Take me home.”

Dean grinned, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. “Whatever you want, Miss Y/L/N,” he murmured.

 


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been nine months since the day of the movie premiere. Life is not always easy.

 

_ Nine Months Later _

The scream tore through me, rattling me to my bones, shocking me, ripping me from my slumber. I rolled out of bed, my hand on the gun I kept in the partially open drawer of the bedside table, pointing it into the semi-dark room, searching for something to shoot.

Y/N was on the other side of the bed, thrashing, twisted in the sheets, fighting invisible demons, calling my name over and over. I flicked the safety on and dropped the gun back in the drawer, then quickly crawled across the bed to pull her into my arms, my hand on her cheek, my lips pressed to her ear, murmuring her name.

Her eyes popped open, her shaking hands slowly relaxed their death grip on the sheets, her feet stopped kicking. I brushed away the few tears that were sliding down her cheek with my thumbs and gently kissed her lips.

“Dean?” she whispered.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” I pulled the twisted blankets away from her legs and readjusted them around us.

*She threw her arms around me, her face buried against the side of my neck, her hair tickling my nose. I rolled to my side, pulling her with me, settling her in the crook of my arm, keeping her close. The nightmares had been a constant presence since “the incident” as she called it, coming almost every night, tormenting her, even now, nine months later. Y/N hadn’t been able to leave the mansion for almost a month after that night, and when she’d finally ventured out, I had to be with her, not even Tiny or Sam were good enough. It had been a struggle, shit, it was  _ still _  a struggle every day as we worked through what had happened, as she struggled to come to terms with what had occurred that day. 

“You okay?” I asked once her breathing had slowed and her hands were no longer shaking.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Sorry.”

I shook my head. “Don’t apologize. Brady or Georgia?”

“Georgia.” She shuddered and I could feel the goosebumps rising on her skin. “It’s getting better, though, I swear.”

But it wasn’t and I knew it. The fear was a constant presence in her life, our life. She would tell me it was getting better, trying to reassure me, but I knew the truth. Knew it better than anyone.

“Don’t lie to me,” I scolded gently.

She tipped her head back, her eyes still glistening with tears, her lower lip caught between her teeth. I put my thumb on her chin, tugging her lip free, my other hand sliding up her jaw and into her hair, pulling her to me, my tongue drifting across her lips, urging her to let me in. She sighed, relaxing in my arms, the kiss deepening. Her fingers closed around my wrist, guiding my hand to her side as she pushed herself closer, her body flush against mine.

I slid my hand over her hip and down her leg, my fingers twisting in the hem of the thin, silk nightgown she was wearing, pulling it up, making contact with her bare skin. She moaned, her head falling back as I kissed the line of her throat, one of her hands slipping between our bodies, palming me through my cotton boxers.

“I need you, Dean,” she whispered, her breath tickling my cheek.

Her words went straight to my cock, bringing it to attention. Y/N pushed her hand past the waistband of my boxers, taking me in her hand, stroking me gently, my hips moving on their own accord, thrusting into her closed palm. She rained kisses over my chest and shoulders, pausing only when I pulled her silk nightgown over her head. I kept her close to me, even as I pushed off my boxers, kicking them to the end of the bed. I pulled her leg over my hip, my fingers sliding down her stomach to the apex of her thighs, caressing her, teasing her until she was gasping and begging for more. 

I rolled to my back, pulling her with me, easing two fingers into her as we moved, her back arching, her nails digging into my chest, her ass rubbing against my cock as she rocked forward onto my fingers. I crooked them, dragging them across that spot I knew would make her come undone, make her cry out my name in ecstasy. It only took a few seconds before she was trembling above me, her thighs quivering as the orgasm worked its way through her.

I held her, aching for her, burning with need, in awe of how beautiful she was - her cheeks flushed pink, her hair lying in loose tendrils around her face, eyes closed, her chest slowly rising and falling as she dragged in deep breath after deep breath. She leaned over me, her lips dancing across mine, taking my hard shaft in her hand and lowering herself onto me, moaning as I filled her. I grabbed her hips, my fingers digging into her, pulling her forward, burying myself to the hilt inside of her, a desperate groan leaving me as her warmth surrounded me.

I let her take control, let her take what she needed from me. She settled her hands on my chest, rocking back and forth, riding me, slow at first, her speed increasing as she chased her orgasm, pulling me with her. I was close, balanced on the precipice, ready to lose it, barely holding back.

Y/N took my hand, pushing it between her legs, gasping in pleasure as my fingers grazed her clit, her head falling back as she continued riding me, her cries escalating as she hit her peak, her entire body shuddering as she let go. I waited, working her through the climax, before easing her onto her back, still inside of her, slowly pumping my hips, my lips on her neck, moving along her throat and over her jaw until I reached her mouth, both of us moaning as she parted her lips and let me in. Her hands slid around my my neck, but I took hold of them, intertwining our fingers, holding her hands by her hand as I moved inside of her, thrusting hard and deep, claiming her as mine with every move.

I came with a low growl in the back of my throat, my entire body shaking as my own orgasm exploded through me. Y/N clung to me, her own gasps of pleasure mingling with mine.

I held her for a long time, nestled between her legs, the two of us exchanging kisses, murmuring words shared between lovers, not meant for any other to hear. I reminded her that she was safe, cared for, loved. I would lay my life on the line for her and I was going to remind her of that everyday, forever.

* * *

You leaned over the sink, staring at the bottle cabinet in the  in front of you. You rubbed a hand over your face, once again hoping the simple gesture would wipe away the memories of that day, would help to make you whole again.

You had barely ventured out of the house, you just didn’t feel safe, even with Dean there, and sometimes Tiny and Sam, you were still terrified. Every day you woke up and stared into the mirror, praying that today would be the day that everything would somehow be better. It never was.

You sighed, snagged the bottle, and twisted off the top, quickly swallowing the pill inside. Today had to be better, it had to. Today of all days you needed to feel normal.

You shut the cabinet, taking a moment to look yourself over in the mirror. Your hair and makeup were perfect, your lips the perfect shade of red, your hair pulled back from your face. You smoothed a hand over your simple dress and slipped on the heels you’d chosen. You took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. Halfway across the bedroom you now shared with Dean, you felt an urge to crawl into the bed and pull the covers over your head, hide away from the world outside. You closed your eyes, remembering Dean’s promises to keep you safe, to protect you forever. You could do this.

Sam was waiting outside the bedroom door. He smiled at you, took your hand, and squeezed it gently before guiding you down the hallway to the top of the stairs. You followed him down, your hands clasped in front of you, trying to stop them from shaking. They were still trembling even when Sam opened the door for you, allowing you to go in ahead of him. Dean was on the other side of the room, wearing your favorite blue suit. You focused on him, smiling even as he smiled, the fear dissipating as soon as his perfect emerald green eyes made contact with yours. You could do this.

You stopped beside him and took his hand, giggling when he leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I think you’re supposed to wait until the end to do that,” you whispered.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he chuckled. “You look beautiful.”

The justice of the peace cleared his throat and gestured for Sam and Charlie to join the three of you. You squeezed Dean’s hand, and took a quick glance behind yourself at the small gathering of friends and family, all there to celebrate the day with the two of you. 

For the first time since that day, since  _ the incident _ , you felt the fear fall away. Everything felt right, perfect. Being with Dean, forever, felt right, felt perfect.

You could do this.

 


End file.
